


His Name is Dean

by Probitatis_Sinceritas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BAMF Charlie Bradbury, BAMF Sam Winchester, Blow Jobs, Bottom Sam, Bottom Sam Winchester, Bottom Sam wesson, Codependency, Dark, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Manipulation, Mental Health Issues, Mental Health Nurse Sam, Mental Health Patient Dean Winchester, Mental Institutions, POV Dean Winchester, POV Sam Winchester, Possessive Dean Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Rape/Non-con Elements, Separation Anxiety, Top Dean Smith, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:35:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 63,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23902435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Probitatis_Sinceritas/pseuds/Probitatis_Sinceritas
Summary: “It’s okay, Dean. You’re my brave hero, you know that, right? And you’re gonna see me tomorrow, okay? I promise you’re gonna see me tomorrow, but I’m afraid this is where we say good night. Okay, buddy?”“No, no, no, no, no! I don’ wanna say g’night. I wan’ you t’ stay--I wa--” Dean suddenly deflates against him and Sam tries not to protest when they pull him away.“Make sure he gets to bed safe,” Sam almost warns. “Thanks… for your help. Good night,” he says, turning around to discreetly wipe his wet eyes with the back of his hand before exiting to the reception room, not wanting to see Dean’s slack face as they carry him away to his room.(Or, Sam is a Mental Health Nurse and Dean is a patient that develops separation anxiety.)
Relationships: Dean Smith/Sam Wesson, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 173
Kudos: 355





	1. I'm Batman

A car honking impatiently brings Sam back to awareness, hands tightening around faux-leather reflexively. With a baleful look in his rearview mirror, he puts his car in drive and steps on the pedal, resisting the urge to flip the bird out his window. If nothing else, it would show them that he’s not here to put up with their crap. What do they have to do that’s so important they can’t wait even five seconds for the person ahead of them to go at their own pace? Sam shakes his head, shooing away the anger with the swishing of his hair. He’s been meaning to get it cut, but he’s been preoccupied with preparing for his new job.

Today, he starts at _Kansas City Health and Wellbeing Centre._ It’s a bit of a mouthful, he admits, with little room to shorten it into something more agreeable. He supposes things were more literal around the time it was founded. Fifty-six years ago, after a spree of violent tornados that tore the roofs off of houses and played a huge part in traumatising the locals, Dr Julian Glover and his wife, Hillary, founded the practise, with a goal in mind to help those that couldn’t necessarily help themselves. Sam felt it was appropriate to research the place he would be working at, especially considering his knowledge may have been what gave him the edge over the other applicants.

Sam knew from around his late teens that he wanted to help people. Namely, those that were dealt a, objectively, bad hand in life. If he were to pinpoint the moment he decided to dedicate his life to the vulnerable, he would place it around the week his Uncle, Jim, took him to visit one of his cousins in Sioux Falls. Henry, his cousin, doesn’t speak to anyone. Most of his communication is done through subtle facial ticks and body language. Sam learnt the language of his body and face in the two weeks that he spent every day visiting him. He still visits him every now and then, telling him stories about his embellished adventures. His heart warms when Henry smiles at him, saying without words that he’s interested in what he has to say.

The time that he spent with Henry gave his life meaning, in a sense. At the time, his parents were going through a divorce, drowning him in the latest gadgets and gifts in a way to out-do the other. It wasn’t what he wanted. It never would be. Sam’s not one for materialistic bullshit. While he has a smartphone and a few gadgets that make his life easier, he wouldn’t be lost for what to do if they were to disappear tomorrow. He’s not sure he could say the same for Charlie, though. Sam smiles as he thinks of his friend losing her mind without her precious electronics, literally pulling her hair out as she repeatedly fails to power on her laptop, growing evermore despaired when only a black screen meets her.

Yeah. That’s not a day that he’s looking forward to. One, he would never hear the end of it. Being a good listener certainly can have its downsides, after all. Two, he feels far more comfortable with her privately re-coding the games that she likes from the comfort of her home, where she’s less likely to get into trouble with the law. Three, she would bother him all hours of the day because she has enough difficulty sleeping as it is without not having her usual source of entertainment to exert some of her energy onto. It’s not that he wouldn’t be thrilled having her around–he just needs to sleep, too. Finally, he’s not that big of a fan of dungeons and dragons on a good day, and he would be dragged into enough games to drive him insane. Which, doesn’t bode well for his profession; no one’s going to let him look after people if _he’s_ the one with the screw loose.

Sam shakes his head with a laugh and ignores the spike in his heart rate, seamlessly turning into a parking spot and shutting off the engine. He stills for a second, head lulling back on the rest. This is it, his first day. Sam licks dry lips and swallows, pushing his hair out of his face as he slaps on a disarming smile, removing himself from the car.

Outside, he throws a hand up over his face and pulls his sunglasses from the collar of his shirt, wrestling them on before dropping his arm. It’s marginally better as he begins the walk, wondering if he should buy himself a better pair after he gets his first paycheck. Some things are worth that extra bit of cash, and he can’t help agreeing with himself as a dull ache begins behind his eyes. The heat licking at his exposed skin he can deal with; internal annoyances are a different ball game.

Sam witnesses a couple of people leaving the building, a petite woman hugging her arms to her chest, looking on the verge of tears. His heart pangs for her, thinking she may have just dropped someone off. Sam waves it off, breathes out a calming breath and makes the last few steps towards the doors, passing a balding man who has a haunted set to his eyes. Sam sympathises with him, hoping the smile he offers him doesn’t come across as rude. The man pauses his steps, puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs like there’s nothing neither of them can do about it, which slows Sam’s gait.

He exhales another long breath, feels his shoulders relax, face softening as he presses the buzzer to the building. Chin tilting up, Sam spots the camera shift towards him. He smiles at it, hand swishing in what he hopes is a friendly gesture. The door signals he can open it, so Sam wastes no time pushing through to the building, ears taking in the hustle and bustle of the reception desk. In the distance, there’s a shouting match going on between a couple of the patients. Sam’s heart rate spikes again, automatic breathing exercises taking over as he calmly makes his way over to the desk while removing his sunglasses, where a radiant girl sits with an impeccable posture, phone raised to her ear as she speaks softly to the person on the other end. She has an air of professionalism that Sam finds enriching, a shred of worry pouring off of him. If the receptionist seems _this focused,_ it gives him hope that the rest of the workforce treat the job with the same amount of dedication.

Sam feels eyes on him from somewhere to his right, the hairs on his nape rising to attention. It’s not a threatening stare, as far as he can tell, so he chooses to ignore it, waiting patiently for the receptionist to finish her conversation. During a lull, she makes a note of him with her eyes, a welcoming smile relaxing the last of his nerves. He tries not to stare directly at her as he waits, feet shifting of their own accord. From the moment he came into this world, he hasn’t been one to sit still. It wouldn’t be long before he started fidgeting with his fingers, though he’s not sure if that’s the having to wait part, or the phantom stare heating up the blood under his skin.

“If there’s anything else I can help you with, please don’t hesitate to call back. Okay? You have a wonderful day as well. Goodbye.” The receptionist puts down the phone with a click, writes something down on a sticky note, places it on a taskboard, Sam assumes, and then turns her attention to him. “How may I help you, Sir?”

“Hello. Yes, I’m Sam Wesson. I was told to sign in as soon as I got here. Today is my first day,” he explains, smiling congenially. She nods her head and whips out a piece of paper from nowhere and slides it towards him. “Is this where I sign in?”

“Yes. We print off a new sheet each day. It lessens the risk of someone stealing the logbook and doctoring it.”

“Did something like that happen already?”

“No, but we cover all angles here,” she says with pride, her smile confirming it. “It looks like you’ve already made a friend.”

Sam frowns at her statement, arching an eyebrow at her. “Excuse me?”

She points a subtle finger behind him, and a full-body shudder wracks his frame, tingling as the whisper of breath ghosts over his flank. Realizing she must be referring to a patient, Sam stomps down his initial reaction, turning on his heel to come face to face with his new friend.

His _friend_ is a very, very handsome man, it turns out. Greenest eyes Sam has ever seen, lashes so long Amazons would be jealous. A symmetrical face opens up when teeth that would be a dentist's wet dream flash at him, a pink tongue sneaking out to run across a plump bottom lip. Sam scolds himself for tracking it, taking in the perpetual scuffing of a slippered foot, a strong looking chin pointing to the ground as broad shoulders sway from side to side, gym-toned biceps bulging through the gaps created from his armpits to his wrists. Sam imagines his hands must be locked behind his back. He’s close enough to breathe hotly on Sam, eyes full of curiosity and trepidation as he smiles at him.

That smile… Sam feels his bones turning to mush as the beautiful man opens his mouth to speak. “Hi… My name is Dean. What’s your name?” Dean says, teeth lightly grazing his bottom lip as he waits for an answer, still pushing the toe of his slipper into the floor as he swings. Sam stops himself from letting his eyes trail down any further. Yes, Dean is a flawless specimen of creation, but that line of thought is not at all appropriate in this situation.

Sam slaps on a warm smile and Dean’s face splits into a wide grin, eyes hooding as he holds his breath in anticipation. “Hello, Dean. It’s an honor to meet you. My name is Sam,” he replies, reaching out for a handshake.

Dean looks around Sam to the receptionist. “He knows my name! Did you hear that? He knows my name!” he announces proudly, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“I know, Dean. And he said it’s an honor to meet you,” the receptionist said, a warmth to her voice that validates Sam’s first impression of her. “Aren’t you going to shake his hand?”

“But I’m not allowed to touch,” Dean replies, and he looks suddenly crushed. Sam remembers being told somewhere that there are some patients that aren’t permitted to touch due to their… _issues_. “But I sure would like to shake the handsome man’s hand. He has a pretty smile. I think he’s cute, but don’t tell him that.”

“I won’t,” she says, and Dean grins at her like it’s their little secret. “If Sam is okay with it, I’m sure it’ll be fine, Dean.”

Sam’s not going to take the initiative. He’ll hold his hand out and wait for Dean to decide whether or not he wants to accept the shake.

“So,” Dean starts, taking a step further into Sam’s space. He can feel his slippered foot poking into his sneakers. Absently, Sam thinks this a little too close for a handshake, and then squeaks as Dean wraps his arms around him, lifting him off the floor in a bone-crushing hug, spinning them around the room with an ease that’s lost on him, dirty blond hair scraping against his shirt as he prattles on, “It’s so nice to meet you, Sam I am. Can we be friends? You're tall. Really tall. Do you play basketball? I bet you get asked _‘what’s the weather like up there’._ Are you the new guy? I hope you are!” Dean goes on, and Sam hears people rushing towards them. He makes a signal with his hand that it’s fine, the receptionist backing him up with a quick _‘this guy has got it, don’t worry.’_

After a lot of spinning and Sam’s head fuzzing up, Dean puts him back on the ground and buries his face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. Sam’s glad he showered. “You smell so nice, Sam. Like sweet fruits and pastries.”

Sam feels conflicted about what’s happening. Dean is a patient, but he’s also a breathtaking work of art, and Sam hasn’t been touched by another man in… A while. He clears his throat, remaining still. If Dean wants to hold onto him, he’s okay with it. He’s not hurting him, and Sam has this intuition that tells him hanging on now will strengthen their relationship going forward. He doesn’t want to scare Dean away or give him the wrong impression.

“Of course we can be friends, Dean. I don’t play professionally, but I’m partial to a game or two for fun. I haven’t actually been asked that as far as I’m aware, and I am the new guy, yeah. Are _you_ the awesome _Dean_ I’ve heard so much about?”

Dean nuzzles his neck and breathes a sigh of contentment that reaches his clavicle. Sam pays it as little mind as he can muster. “I dunno. Dean is a pretty awesome guy, or so I’ve heard.”

“I heard that, too,” Sam agrees. “Dean? I need to sign in quick, do you mind letting me turn around?”

Wordlessly, Dean loosens his grip but doesn’t break contact, two firm hands coming up to settle on his shoulders and knead the joints. Sam unconsciously relaxes into it, finally retrieving the sign-in sheet and filling out the details. Dean digs his thumbs into a tight knot and Sam bites back a sound, handing the sheet back once he’s finished with it and smiling at the receptionist. Katie, her nametag says. Sam nods his head at her, being careful not to startle Dean as he turns to the side.

“Be nice to your new friend, Dean, and give him some space to breathe, okay? Sam, you’ll want to go through those doors there, turn left into the corridor, use the code you were sent via text last night and then it’s the third door on the right. See you later when you sign out,” Katie says, flicking her eyes between the two of them as she spoke. She then settled them on Dean, that warmth seeping back into her voice as she adds, “Have a nice day, Dean-o.”

Dean pats Sam’s shoulders. “Be _cool_ ,” he replies in her general direction. “I don’t want him to think I’m _lame_ with a nickname like _that_.”

“So give him one. It’s what you do to all the staff,” Katie teases, and Dean knocks his forehead between Sam’s shoulders. “No need to be embarrassed. Here, I’ll tell Sam my nickname, then we can be even, all right?” Dean nods, and Sam feels the stubble on his chin scrape his shirt. “So I’m also known as Kat-litter. There. We’re even. Let’s never speak of this again,” she grumbles, but there’s no heat to it. “Take care, you two.”

“Thank you,” Sam says, heading towards the indicated doors with Dean in tow. The _backup_ from earlier dawdle around, watching with caution as they pass through the doors, Dean dropping his hands from his shoulders to curl around his left hand. Sam accepts the hold, smiling over his shoulder at him, which provokes a toothy grin. “Aren’t _you_ affectionate?”

Dean rubs the back of his neck, then, looking sheepish. “I _like_ you.”

“Who else do you like?” Sam continues curiously, taking in the communal area filled with patients milling about. Some are engaged in a movie on the TV. There’s a couple of hunched over men playing cards. Sam’s heart clenches when he sees a man sat on a chair, drool pooling out of his mouth, gaze lightyears away. “Who are your friends here?”

“I don’t have any friends,” Dean replies, and Sam squeezes his hand in comfort. “No one talks to me here.”

Somehow Sam finds that hard to believe. “I thought you have nicknames for everyone?”

“They don’t know what they are… They stare at me, get all, um… weird? I dunno, and then they walk away.”

“Maybe it’s because they can’t handle your awesomeness,” Sam offers, squeezing his hand again. Dean squeezes back and butts his back again. “So what nickname do you have for me, then?“

Dean hums, pulling Sam’s arm back and possibly circling patterns on his palm as they walk. Long corridor, Sam thinks absently. “I like… Sammy. Sammy suits you. Yeah… Sammy. Sammy, Sammy, Sammy.”

Sam bites the inside of his cheek and purses his lips. He’s used to hearing that said with a sneer or followed by a few extra words of disdain. To be fair, that had been when he was growing up. No one’s called him that for a long time, though… Still, Dean seems happy with it, so he nods his head and tells him as much.

“Woohoo. I can’t wait to tell Cas all about you,” Dean intones, lightly scratching the skin of Sam’s palm. “He’s gonna be happy I made a friend. He always tells me he wants me to make friends. Says he can’t be around to keep me company all the time. Says he has other souls to watch over or something.”

While Dean goes on, Sam is hyper-focused on what he’s saying. “I thought no one talked to you here?” he presses.

Dean hums again, deep and throaty as he fiddles with the hair at the base of Sams’ neck as they walk. “Cas is an angel,” he informs him simply, a smile in his voice. “My Mom told me angels were watching over me before I went to sleep. I think Cas is my angel or something. He’s weird. Wears a trenchcoat and doesn’t know what _Star Wars_ is,” Dean adds, and his tone suggests that the idea of someone not knowing about _Star Wars_ is completely absurd. Sam can relate. “He’s nice to me.”

From what Dean told him, Sam gathers that _Cas_ might have something to do with the reason that Dean’s here in the first place. He wonders if the words from Dean’s Mom manifested this _angel_ figure that he’s latched onto for comfort and companionship since he doesn’t seem to think he’s capable of making his own friends. It makes Sam feel guilty as he comes to a stop at the end of the corridor, seeing a row of seats off to the left. Dean halts behind him, still fiddling with loose tendrils, his other hand brushing the tips of their fingers together. It’s a bizarre situation, but Sam can’t say that he minds.

He turns around and faces him, Dean’s lips twitching at the break of contact, stretching into another smile as he circles his thumbs over Sam’s hips, curious green eyes tracking the crinkling of his shirt.

Sam’s throat feels constricted, air struggling to breathe life into his body as this man, who’s probably older than him, tucks his head beneath Sam’s chin and presses his ear to his chest. “Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump,” Dean parrots, Sam bracing his legs to stop them from crashing to the ground. “Oo. It skipped. Do it again!”

“I’m sorry, Dean… I can only do it once every five years. And it only happens around awesome people,” Sam half-lies, hands stiff by his sides. Whatever is happening right now probably isn’t appropriate, even without the inclusion of his own hands. But Dean seems relaxed and happy, and Sam doesn’t have the heart to deny him that.

Dean’s short tufts flirt with his chin as he lifts his head up, lips so close they’re almost kissing. Sam withdraws himself marginally, just enough to create space, while not enough to make Dean feel self-conscious or that Sam is repulsed by him, which would be ridiculous. Dean’s gaze lingers far too long on his mouth, and Sam debates with himself if he should maybe set up boundaries for this man. They just met, he’s a patient–this is not appropriate.

But then Dean smiles at him, and he looks so content Sam can’t bring himself to do anything other than exist in his beauty, returning his smile in earnest.

“So I’m one of those awesome people?”

Sam nods his head, smile turning into a bright grin. “Who else would I be talking about?”

Dean looks around them, noticing that they’re alone, and for the briefest moment, he looks like he wants to eat Sam alive before it fades into understanding. “You’re right… Only one–no, _two_ awesome people here.”

“What? Where’s the other one?”

Two warm hands lace their fingers together and a nose that plastic surgeons would die to get a plaster mould of skims past his own. “Standing in front of me. He’s super tall.”

Sam squeezes his hands, cutting his eyes to the keypad. He needs to punch in the code, but Dean doesn’t seem ready to let go yet, taut fingers twitching whenever he makes a move to step away. Sam has known this man less than an hour and the idea of leaving him on his own feels him with dread. It’s as if he’s anticipating a reaction before it even happens, assessing Dean’s relaxed features, pleasant gleams reflecting off his stunning green eyes as Sam stares into them, searching for a hint, a prompt that might aid him here. After all, Dean is unknown territory. Sam is not so naive that he would assume for one second that this is an everyday situation. From what he’s deduced so far, Dean’s mindset is very similar to a curious child, eyes full of wonder and body thrumming with nervous energy, taking to strangers like moths to a flame. That’s all well and good without the addition of the unearthed variables that could contain within them a violent temper–Sam’s on his own in this corridor. He doesn’t want to think that Dean will hurt him but he can’t be sure.

“Dean?”

“Yes, Sammy?” Dean replies cheerily.

“I need to go in there to talk to some people. Are you going to be okay out here, or do you want me to get someone for you?”

Dean grins at him and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about me. I’m a big boy. I’ve got my big boy pants on, see?” he flicks his eyes down to his _big boy pants_ , and Sam makes a sound like he’s impressed, when he didn’t actually deign to look. “I’ll wait out here and keep watch. Make sure no one interrupts your secret meeting,” Dean adds conspiratorially, settling on several patches above them as if he’s searching for cameras. “Be quick, though. There are spies everywhere.”

Sam smiles. “My hero,” he coos, and Dean puffs his chest up and grins proudly, stepping out of Sam’s space when asked. “I’ll try to be as quick as I can, Batman.”

“ _I’m Batman,_ ” Dean quotes, surprisingly well–though, he does have the voice for it. “ _Sometimes it’s only madness that makes us what we are.”_

“Do you like Batman, Dean?”

“Yeah! Batman is awesome. He drives a cool car and has lots of gadgets and saves people,” Dean tells him, twiddling his thumbs. Sam wonders if it’s because they’ve broken contact.

“All right. Well, I’ll be quick,” Sam says, punching in the code he memorised last night. “You gonna be good for me?”

“The best!” Dean answers enthusiastically, taking up the stance of security personnel, pretending to speak into an earpiece and everything.

Sam laughs fondly, pushing the door open. He peers over his shoulder one more time before stepping through, swallowing the lump in his throat. The sudden bout of nervousness doesn’t make a lot of sense, but Sam can work on compartmentalising that later. For now, he’s due to meet with the current head of _Kansas City Health and Wellbeing Centre,_ Missouri Moseley and her deputy, Bobby Singer.

The first time he saw a picture of the two of them, he couldn’t help thinking that they were like _the odd couple_. There didn’t seem to be any qualities that they shared with each other. Missouri seemed, from reports about her and her picture, to be the type of person that would invite you into her house, supply you with a hot drink and some cookies, and then proceed to tell you what you were doing wrong with your life. At least, you would be comfortable before she brought your entire world crashing down around you. Sam shakes his head in sympathy for those people. While these are assumptions, he’s been given more than good reason to believe that his thoughts are certainly on the right track.

As for Bobby Singer, he’s more of the type to greet you at the door with a shotgun and a _git off my property,_ but Sam will withhold judgement considering the type of profession they’ve all found themselves in.

He knocks on the door congenially, the stroke of his fingers on his palm reminding him how warm he is. Dean’s hold still lingers, a phantom weight packed with a pleasant hum of heat following the path of his heart vein. It makes him feel dizzy for a moment, gripping the handle to steady himself, and almost crying out in victory when someone tells him to enter from the other side.

Sam swings the door open with a grace he didn’t think he’d possess, closing it behind him with a soft click. The man and woman sat behind their respective desks eye him the moment he turns to face them. Missouri smiles warmly at him, her eyes kind, hiding the diagnosis underway through the veil. Sam feels naked and he’s fully dressed. Bobby offers him a curt nod, typing away something on his computer, waving a hand for Sam to get with the program and take a seat. He takes the one closest to the door, aware that Missouri is cataloguing his every reaction.

He feels like a patient.

*

Dean bounces on the balls of his feet, waiting for Sam. Sam is talking to important people. Dean thinks it must be Missouri. She’s nice. Stares a lot. Makes him a little uncomfortable. Bobby wears a cap a lot. Looks a bit like a fisherman. He buys Dean baseball cards. It’s weird. Dean’s not really a fan of baseball. But he smiles when he gives them to him, so Dean says thanks and smiles at him. Cas says it’s polite.

Sam is so cute. He has dimples. And lots of colours in his eyes. He has a pretty laugh. He’s nice to him, says he’s awesome. Doesn’t push him off when he touches him. Dean likes Sam’s touches. Soft, warm, makes him tingle. Dean likes the tingles, like little sparks. Big and zappy. Makes him feel hot as well.

Sam has nice lips. Dean likes watching him talk. Pretty, pretty lips. Pretty eyes, face, nose. So pretty. Guys aren’t ‘sposed to be pretty, but people call him pretty, too. Maybe it’s the hair. Dean likes how it feels between his fingers. Soft, smells like pears. Sweet like pie. Dean likes pie, too. Sam smells like pastries. Warm, toasted pastries with lots of syrup on them.

He’s tall, has long legs. Wide chest and his heart goes ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump, and it skips! Dean thinks that’s so cool. He’s never felt his skip. Wonders if it even can. Sam must be a magician. Maybe he can teach Dean how to do it.

When is he coming back? Been a while. Dean hopes he’s okay. He joked about the spies. He thinks… There aren’t spies, are there? Dean looks up, flicks his eyes. Red lights blink at him. He breathes out, stops when he hears something. It’s not the door. He sighs, scuffs his foot on the floor.

Sam has nice arms, too. Strong arms. Arms that can go around him. Dean puts his around Sam, too. He lets him call him Sammy. Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. Makes Dean smile when he says it. No nickname for him yet. But they’re friends. He’ll get a nickname. Sam will give him one. Dean will love it. He’ll be happy with anything.

He’s glad he made a friend.

A pretty, nice, tall friend with dimples. Dean likes those dimples. Makes Sammy look younger, more relaxed.

Dean scratches his arm, fidgets. Swing. Swing. Swing. Step back. Swing. Sam will be back. He said he’ll be back. Dean believes him. Sam has an honest face. He smiles at Dean. He’s nice to him.

Waiting. Waiting… Waiting. Camera shifts, looks at him. Dean gives it the thumbs up, goes back to scratching. He should think of more Batman quotes. He only learnt two. Sam likes his quotes. Laughed at them. Dean wants to hear him laugh. Again and again and again.

It’s a beautiful laugh.

Like Sam.

Beautiful.

Sweet.

Nice.

Kind.

Sammy.

Dean hums, fidgets, bounces on the balls of his feet.

Waits.


	2. I'm a Brave Hero

There’s a tightness in his throat as he waits for either of them to say something. He needs the silence to end. It’s not that Sam has ever had an issue with silences. Those were _comfortable_ silences. This is anything but that, fingers digging into his pants, clothed flesh pushing against his bone. He knows why he’s so nervous. Missouri is looking through him. Not in the rude way, where she’s ignoring his existence entirely. No, this is the way in which someone stares right into your soul and plucks at it until they have the information that they need. It’s thoroughly unsettling, and Sam finds himself regretting not postponing his time out in the hall with Dean as long as he possibly could.

He’s conscious of every action that he’s making, body stiffening when her sharp brown eyes narrow in on the crossing of his leg. What does that mean? Why is he so nervous? Sam’s forgetting everything he learnt already and it’s his first day. He needs to relax, really. This is absurd. He’s not on trial here or anything. This is a conversation between colleagues—yeah. Just chill, Sam. Everything is fine. They asked for Sam to be here; no need for him to feel like he’s in the hot seat.

Although, it certainly helps very little with Missouri’s unflinching gaze and Bobby’s you’re on your own, kid, indifference to it. Sam’s beginning to think that baseball cap has a dual purpose, maybe he uses it as a short line of defence against Missouri’s all-knowing eyes. Jesus, Sam’s burning up. Does he have a fever? The flu? If that’s the case, he needs to get out of here!

“Boy, you need to relax. Ain’t no one here gonna hurt you. Now, settle,” Missouri instructs him, rolling her eyes at the straightening of his shirt. “This is just a talk, Sam. We do this with every new addition to the family.”

“Family?”

Bobby pipes up, “Family look out for each other. That’s why we treat it like a family home, take those in that actually give half a damn about their jobs.” Bobby flicks his gaze to Missouri, a silent agreement or something passing between them. Sam clears his throat, picks at his pants. “It’s why you were hired, son.”

“Really?”

Missouri claps her hands together to draw his attention. “That’s right. I won’t tolerate anything but the best for those in my charge, and you’re it. Your EQ is far above average. You care far more than is probably healthy, actually…” she trails off, turns to rustle through a few folders. “You graduated top of your class, took on three volunteering jobs at the same time, spent your nights feeding the homeless and your mornings walking stray dogs while you were in college. You stopped when you had to move back home, right?”

Sam nods, a pang of hurt shooting through him.

“It’s okay, Sam. I’m sure your good deeds will not have gone unnoticed,” Missouri tries to assure him, eyes softening to one of fondness. “That’s why we hired you. There were other applicants with a lot more years on you, but you fit the bill for me, and grouchy over there.”

“Bite me,” Bobby grumps, furiously clicking his mouse. “I’m surly. There’s a difference. “

Missouri shakes her head at Sam like he shouldn’t take anything Bobby says seriously, which he finds himself agreeing with. There’s a soft nature to the man’s demeanour, masked by his front of _do I look like I give a damn_ playing out on his face. Sam smiles despite his earlier discomfort, relaxing into his seat.

“So you’ve met Dean, I take it?”

Sam startles.

“We pass notes,” Bobby supplies, shrugging.

“Um, yeah. When I first got here,” he explains, cheeks hotter than he anticipated. “He’s very affectionate,” he finds himself saying, wondering if that’s even appropriate for him to divulge.

Missouri’s face breaks out into a wide grin. “That boy is the cutest thing that ever did,” she confesses, a faraway glance that seems like a memory casting her eyes up. “Be careful, though. I know he’s adorable and it’s hard not to be blinded by that sunny smile, but there’s more to him than that.”

“What do you mean?” Sam questions, leaning in as if doing so will make things clearer. “He says an angel talks to him.”

Missouri arches an eyebrow. “An angel? He’s never mentioned an angel before…” She turns her back to him, sifts through another bunch of files, grabs one and then flips it open, pen at the ready as she scrawls a note. “Did he say anything else about this angel?”

Sam suddenly feels bile churning his stomach. What if Dean disclosed that to him with the intent on keeping it between them? Oh god. He would hate to think that he’s betrayed Dean’s trust already… But it’s his duty to report something like this or make a note of it himself. Still, Sam can’t fight off the sensation of a jagged blade cutting through his flesh as he tells them what he knows, hoping that Dean will forgive him for it.

“Seems our Dean has taken a liking to you,” Bobby says, and there’s a weight in his eyes that reminds Sam of a Momma Bear. “You must’a made a good impression, kid.”

“He told me no one talks to him here,” Sam replies, the pity in his voice clear. “That’s why I didn’t distance myself when he…”

Missouri clicks her tongue, humming thoughtfully. “It’s not appropriate. You know that, right?”

“I know. I remember the training… But he just looked so crushed.”

Bobby purses his lips. “Ultimately, Sam, so long as you know what you’re doing and you’re okay with it, there’s no real reason to shove him away.”

“I would never shove him,” Sam says immediately, pulse quickening. “It would destroy any chance we had of being friends if I did that.”

“It probably wouldn’t. He would be hurt, but he would understand. He’s very understanding if it’s explained to him right. All we’re saying is that you should be careful. He wasn’t always so sweet and sunshiney,” Missouri explains, eyes on the folder open in front of her. “When Dean first came to us, he had a really difficult time coping with overstimulation. He would scream about the sounds being too much, yelling at everyone to shut up with his hands over his ears. Someone would walk in and he’d have his head buried under the couch cushions… He about near beat one of the Orderlies face in when they pulled the cushion off of him.”

“How often does that happen?”

Bobby answers him, “Hardly at all now. Ever since we got him on the right meds to help him cope, he’s had one or two episodes. The rest of the time he’s harmless.” He tips his cap down and refuses to look at either of them. “It’s a horrifying thing to watch, Son. Be aware of that.”

“Is that why people avoid him?”

Missouri frowns. “No one avoids Dean, Sam. It’s advised that people don’t get too close to him because he’s very impressionable and naive. We want to keep him safe at all costs,” she corrects him, shutting the file after jotting another spree of notes down. “He has a heart of gold and wears it on his sleeve. There’s a certain power that comes with that if you hold it in your hands. Do you understand?”

Sam swallows, suddenly feeling dirty. He nods, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “I know it probably doesn’t mean anything, but I would never take advantage of that. And I’m not sure I’d be able to stop myself from doing something unthinkable to someone that would.”

“You have eyes, Sam. It’s okay. I can see from one look you’re not the type. But there have been--”

“Wha--”

“Nothing happened. Don’t worry. We didn’t let it. But it could have,” she rushes to appease him, sharing a look with Bobby. “It’s dangerous for a character like Dean to be that gullible and beautiful at the same time. I’ve let go of many staff members, men and women alike that have been sorely tempted by him. It sickens me just talking about it,” Missouri spits, pausing to collect herself. Sam’s throat burns as she continues. “I have eyes and ears in all the right places. Nothing gets passed me, boy, so if I hear a whiff that anyone’s planning something evil against my family members? Well, even I’m not above giving them the smackdown for it. “

It’s far easier than he would have thought to imagine this woman throttling anyone. He’s having a hard time coming to terms with the knowledge that there have been low-lives that have dared to even try and take advantage of someone as sweet as Dean, or anyone else here. If he wasn’t being watched right now, tears of rage would be pricking his eyes and he would be sorely tempted to punch through drywall. He’ll have to blow off some steam with his gloves tonight; this new information is far too distressing. How could anyone think to do that? It boggles the mind and twists a knot in his stomach that seems to be on a mission to pull his organs together in one place.

There is a voice so far away that he barely registers it telling him that, as much as it disgusts him, there is a small part of him that can see why they would be tempted. Strip away the childlike wonder and sunny face and Dean’s a walking wet dream for anyone with even a smidgen of desire for the male form. Hell, perhaps even without. Sam has a weakness for deep, gravelly voices, penetrating eyes and a body that’s both made for killing just as much as it is for attentively tending to their partner's needs. Dean’s all of those things. Yes, his voice has a childish twinge to it that belies the earthy, raw rumble that makes Sam feel weak in his knees; that’s already happened twice since meeting him, but it doesn’t take much to be assaulted by an alternate universe where Dean’s of sound mind and a veritable master of all things sinful. It’s painfully easy, and Sam will devote himself to keeping that under lock and key.

As he thinks about the implications of that, it’s getting increasingly more difficult to see a reason for not denying the contact between them. Missouri said that Dean would understand, which makes him feel marginally better about the situation, but there’s a nagging in his brain that revolts at even the notion of it. He sees the rejection in Dean’s eyes, the grassy green morphing into a crestfallen seaweed colour in his mind's eye. Sam doesn’t ever want to witness that…

“I’ll say this, son,” Bobby begins, bringing him back to the room. “Dean is very special to… _all of us_. And that’s not just because his family pumps funding into this place more than Missouri here refreshes her drink every day,” he says, dismissing Missouri’s indignant exclamation and breathy mutters. “If you’re confident that you can handle him, by all means… But if you can’t, keep him at arm's length, for both of your sakes. Understand?”

Sam nods his head, not meeting either of their eyes. “Is this normal for him?”

Missouri shakes her head. “Not at all, boy. He’s naive and gullible to a fault, but we’ve never seen him this actively affectionate with anyone… Well, except Benny, and this is your first day,” she tells him, and Sam catches the subtle hint in her voice. “He has been known to follow staff members around like a second shadow, however.”

The image it conjures up in Sam’s head makes him smile. Dean tailing some random carer like a lost puppy, hands behind his back as he rocks on the balls of his feet, watching them with unending curiosity.

“Again… You’ve done the training, you’re equipped with all the knowledge that you need, so the ball is in your court. Now, enough about our resident ball of sunshine, let’s talk about what you’re gonna be doin’ today,” Bobby captures both of their attentions, motioning with his head to a sheet of paper. Sam grabs it, flicks his eyes over the contents and nods. “Is there anything on that list you’re not comfortable doing? It’s important that you familiarise yourself with your new family, after all.”

“I’d like to be able to help wherever I can,” Sam declares with unshakeable resolve, not even flinching this time when Missouri trains her eyes on him.

“Terrific. Now get on with it,” Bobby says, shooing him with a motion of his hand.

Sam thinks he’s gonna have a good friend in Bobby.

“Bobby Singer, if you don’t quit with that salty tongue, I’ll cut it off,” Missouri warns him, pinning him with a harsh stare, a softness hidden beneath the weight.

Missouri is someone he can see himself getting along with, too.

*

The moment Sam pulls the door open, he registers Dean standing exactly where he left him, green eyes starting at his feet and travelling all the way up, pillowy lips stretching into a wide grin when he finishes appraising him. Sam’s temporarily rooted to the spot from the raw magnetism, its infectious nature doing its level best to split Sam’s face in half as he returns it.

“Hey, Sammy! I waited here just like I said I would. No one got past me. I’m the best security guard ever,” Dean states proudly, licking his lips. “I missed you,” he adds, stepping into Sam’s space and leaning on him. Sam’s aware that this should be the part where he tells Dean to keep a comfortable distance between them. He should say he’s happy to be his friend but they can’t do… _this_. He should discourage the lack of space, get across that Dean curling his arms around him and breathing on his neck is inappropriate; that they should have boundaries that prevent these situations from happening. “Are you okay, Sammy? The ba-dumps are so fast! Is this another magic trick?!”

Dean’s looking up at him with awe in his eyes, popping full lips and smiling gleefully as Sam collects his thoughts. He needs to detach himself… Missouri said that Dean would understand, that he just needs to explain in the right way and everything will be fine. God, Sam hopes so.

“You waited all this time?” Sam asks instead, a prisoner to those hypnotic shamrock portals unwavering in their gaze.

Dean nods rapidly. “Sammy told me to wait, so _I_ waited. I did good, right?” he questions, a flicker of worry fighting to bring Sam’s breakfast up. He nods his head immediately, letting his face say it all. The flicker dies immediately and relief floods through him. “I knew I could do it! Cas says I just have to be patient. Be patient and wait, he says. If I wait, good things will come. Like you, Sammy. Cas was right. I can’t wait to tell him later.”

They’re so close he can practically taste the minty freshness of Dean’s breath, prompting Sam to employ his plan of action to cut the head off the snake before things get complicated. But then Dean steps to his side and laces their fingers together, settling his free hand on Sam’s furthest shoulder, tucking in against his side and Sam’s words die in his throat.

“So what now, Sammy? You wanna see my room?”

Sam clears his throat and takes a calming breath, shaking away the mental images those words created. He will put a lid on this. He just needs enough time to fully realize that Dean is not a random man Sam might run into at the bar, take back to his apartment and let loose on his body. Dean is someone innocent. Someone that Sam needs to protect. And he will protect him; Missouri’s voice reminding him that Dean has already been the target of people with far less mental fortitude than Sam, making him bite the inside of his cheek.

Pushing that to the side, for now, Sam starts walking, not surprised when Dean matches his pace. “First I’ve got a group activity to get to,” Sam tells him, squeezing back in response to the intermittent flexes. “Aren’t you supposed to be in there already?” he teases, laughing softly when Dean purses his lips like he knows he forgot about something. “It’s okay. We can go together.”

“Awesome! I don’t like them. But if you’re there, I might!” Dean says, pulling Sam closer to him as they pass another patient. Sam smiles at them, holding out his hand to wave in greeting. She stares in puzzlement at Sam’s hand, poking her finger into her upper lip. Stopping to give her a chance to respond, he makes a surprised sound as he’s tugged further down the corridor. “She won’t talk. Looks at me weird. All the time. It’s no biggie,” Dean explains, relenting when he falls back into step with him.

Dean has an unsettling grip. Sam’s barely capable of reclaiming his hand, and the knowledge of that doesn’t sit well with him. He doesn’t think that Dean is going to attack him. Far from it. But he worries about what someone could do with that type of power at their disposal. Dean’s unnaturally strong. Sam can tell from the way the man lifted him off the ground and spun him without a shred of strain in his voice as he went on, turning them with an ease as if Sam’s nothing more than a ragdoll.

He has a responsibility to all the patients, including Dean, to watch out for their safety. If anything ever happens under his watch, Sam will never forgive himself for it… He finds himself squeezing Dean’s hand as he thinks about that, a smile returning when it’s reciprocated, a sunny grin lighting up his world as Dean turns his head to face him, seemingly advancing forward without a care in the world.

“Why don’t you like them?”

Dean doesn’t stop as he answers. “Don’t wanna listen to me. Think I make them nervous. It’s okay, though. I have you now. And Cas,” he admits, grin unwavering. “Cas doesn’t talk much, so I talk and talk and talk. Tell him ‘bout Benny and movies. Cas prefers books,” Dean rolls his eyes. “Boring, right? I tell him he’s lame. Movies are the best!”

“I like listening to you.”

“Me too! You, I mean. I could hear you talk all day!” Dean confesses, knocking on a door with the number four on it. “Cas says it’s polite to knock. Ellen does, too!”

“Who’s Ellen? And Benny?”

“Ellen’s my Mom. Well, not my Mom. She’s my sorta Mom. She comes on Wednesdays. Benny comes on Saturdays!” Dean informs him, eyebrows pinched. “He can’t this week. Says he has important stuff to do at the lake.”

“Maybe he’s gonna bring you a present when he gets back,” Sam ponders, ignoring the odd looks he gets as Dean pushes the door open, keeping their hands attached as they walk through it.

“You think so?!”

“I do,” Sam replies and sweeps his eyes over the room. “Where do you want to sit, Dean?”

“I don’ mind. As long as you sit with me.” Dean purses his lips again, steps becoming increasingly more hesitant the closer they get to the circle of chairs. “See? They stare... “

Sam catalogues the expressions on their faces, noting that Dean’s not wrong. There is an odd reaction to Dean’s presence… But it’s not one that Sam can say he’s floored by. The amount of hunger in several pairs of eyes of all unique colours makes Sam feel extremely uncomfortable for a couple of beats, eventually righting himself. He supposes it makes complete sense, as men and women in their position often are far less shackled by their inhibitions like the rest of the world. Still, that doesn’t stop them from being awestruck in the presence of perpetual beauty, _just like the rest of the world_. At least now he knows why Dean has no friends. They all must find it a challenge in and of itself to look at him, let alone start a conversation.

Whoever would have thought it wouldn’t pay to be beautiful? Sam shakes his head. That’s absurd. Dean needs friends, people that he can relate to, people that he can make some memories with… Even if it is in this institution. That’s just even more of a reason, really. He’s cooped up in here, unable to stretch his legs more than three times a day, from what Sam’s been told, and it’s good for anyone to socialise, especially with people that they have things in common with.

Over the next week, Sam will work on making Dean at least one friend.

“You pick,” Sam offers, nodding his head in greeting to the other carers. One, in particular, has an extremely incredulous look on their face as they zero in on their linked hands. He shrugs, grins and gestures to Dean. They shake their head, conveying with subtle hand movements that he’s making a mistake by letting this happen. They’re not wrong, but what can he do now?

“Let’s sit here,” Dean says, pushing two seats together, leaving only the space between the meeting of the chair legs. He settles on the left one, tugging on Sam’s hand until he perches on the right. Sam brings their joined hands to Dean’s thigh before he can put them in his lap. If Dean notices the detour, he doesn’t fuss about it, thumb sweeping over one of Sam’s knuckles. “This is way better than normal,” Dean adds pensively, laying his other hand over them.

“Dean,” a man with deep frown lines and an English accent calls from the opposite end of the circle. Dean doesn’t seem to be listening, gaze focused on their linked hands, so Sam softly coaxes him to pay attention. “Give the man his hand back, okay? You’re not supposed to touch.”

“But I like Sammy’s hand. It’s warm and soft and makes me happy. Sam is nice to me,” Dean replies, tensing.

“I understand, Dean. But you’ve been told before.”

“Sam hasn’t told me to let go. So I’m not letting go. I don’t want to,” Dean says petulantly, looking away from him, hands shaking. Sam couldn’t even take his hand back if he wanted to right now. “Sammy doesn’t mind! He thinks I’m awesome…”

“I think you’re awesome, _too_ , Dean. We all do around here—”

“‘m not letting go. Not until Sammy says so.”

“Dean…”

“It’s okay,” Sam placates, getting the man’s attention. “I’ve got this. Please, continue with the session. Dean will be fine, won’t you?”

“See? Sammy says it’s okay. He’s nice to me,” Dean repeats, glaring at the short, stocky man. Sam stops himself from laughing, pinching his hip to accomplish it. Dean returns his focus to Sam then, virtually dismissing the man entirely. “You’ll be my partner for the group activity, right, Sam?” And suddenly that megawatt smile is back in full force and Sam forgets how to breathe again. “I normally sit in the corner and wait for it to be over… But now I’ve got you!”

“Of course, Dean. I’ll be your partner, but only if you apologise for being rude to…”

“Sorry, Crowley,” Dean mutters, looking miffed that he had to say it, but it vanishes the moment it’s over. “There. Apology done! Now you’ll be my partner, right?”

Crowley, which Sam’s not gonna be over for a while. Who names their kid that? _Crowley_ levels him with a calculating stare, sending an icy chill through Sam’s veins. He wonders if Crowley attends Missouri’s class on how to look at people like they’re a private diary on display, tensing with each skim over his posture, the spot where their hands meet, Dean’s radiant smile as he prattles on about all the times they did group activities that no one wanted to pair up with him for, telling Sam how much fun they could have been if he was there a long time ago, when Dean first got there. Sam’s a little shocked that Dean’s been here for over ten years, though he’s not sure how old he is, yet.

A few months from now, Sam’s going to be twenty-four. Luckily, he’s not one of those people that starts freaking out the closer they get to the big 3-0, unlike someone that he won’t mention… When he assesses the man currently clutching his hand for dear life, he’s confident that he’s got a few years on Sam. It can’t be by that much; if it weren’t for the grade two stubble and jawline, Sam would have ID’d Dean if he walked into the bar he worked at when he was studying for his Mental Health Nursing Degree at the University of Kansas, though he can’t deny that someone of Dean’s magnitude may have been able to get away with not having it on him.

Sam’s point is that he would place Dean’s age above his. By a bit. Not that much. A few years, maybe. He supposes he could just ask Dean how old he is…

“Right then. Let’s continue, shall we? Martha, as you were,” Crowley says, seemingly content for now to leave them to it. Sam’s grateful. That gaze was starting to make him uncomfortable.

*

This is awesome! Dean likes Sammy’s hand. Feels nice. Soft… Soft and warm. Meany said let go but Sam said it’s okay, so it’s okay. He’s okay with this, and Dean is happy. Sam is nice to him, makes him feel special and tingly.

 _Stroke. Stroke. Stroke_ _._ Sammy’s tense. Dean will help him relax! Dean squeezes Sam’s hand, moves other to Sam’s shoulders. _Dig, dig, dig._ Dean’s good at this. He learnt for Benny. Benny gets tense after work, needs to relax. Dean helps because Benny is nice to him, and Benny’s all floppy after so it must work! Dean’s sure of it. Benny tells him _thanks, brother_ and ruffles his hair. Dean’s not a fan of the ruffles. But Benny smiles when he does it, so it’s okay.

Sammy’s tight. Needs to loosen up. Dean will help him. _Dig, dig, dig._ Sam’s quiet, listening to others. Dean gets up, moves behind him, uses both hands. _Dig, dig, dig._ Meany says something. Dean doesn’t know what it is. He’s focused on digging. Sammy’s tense, make it better. Sammy’s tense, so make it better. Dean can do that. He does it for Benny. Dean is good at this, knows what he’s doing. Wants to be useful. Sam will be happy.

“You should really tell him to stop that.”

Dean rolls his eyes. Sammy is okay. He would say if he wasn’t.

“I’ve got it, don’t worry,” Sam says. _See?_ He’s okay. He would say if he wasn’t. And he said he’s okay, so it’s okay. “He can feel I’m tense.”

Sammy is tense. Super tense. Dean will make it better.

“Don’t say we didn’t warn you, Sam.”

Dean doesn’t like that. Meany should shut up. Not talk to Sam. Doesn’t deserve to. _Dig, dig, dig._ Not working. Meany is making it worse. Sammy’s gettin’ tenser. Dean presses. _Press and press and press_. Not doin’ nothin’. All Meany’s fault. Sam was fine before! Dean’s mad. Meany is ruining it.

“It’s fine, really. I know what I’m doing.”

Sam says that, but he’s not relaxin’. Dean can make it better. He can do this. He does it for Benny. He knows what to do. It’s gonna be fine. Sammy is gonna be happy, just watch. Dean can do it.

*

Sam senses Dean’s thumbs pressing harder on the knots in his shoulders. Even without looking at his face, he knows he’s getting angry. He can feel it in the pressure, the slight quake to his hands. Dean’s getting upset, and he has an idea about why. He looks over at Crowley, catching the man’s eyes lingering behind him, on Dean, observing his actions, a look of mild disgust creeping into his eyes. Sam would give him a scathing look if it weren’t for the many curious gazes watching the scene unfold.

“Sam, I don’t want to step on your toes, but you shou—”

“Shut up, Meany! Leave Sammy alone,” Dean snaps, stiff hands pinning him to his seat.

Sam appreciates the support, but he can’t condone that sort of behaviour, even if he will share a laugh with himself about the look on Crowley’s face when he’s back in the judgement-free sanctuary that is his car.

“ _Dean,_ ” Sam warns gently, looking up and back at him. Dean stills at the tone of his voice, hands covering his face in shame as he takes a step back. Oh shit. Sam quickly turns himself in the chair and shuffles to catch up with Dean, keeping his tone light.

“Sammy’s mad. I made him upset. No, Dean. Why’d you do that? He’s your friend and you upset him. _Bad_ Dean! You did a _bad_ thing!”

Sam’s heart _aches_ as Dean grabs his hair, face red with anger and nails digging into his scalp. Without startling him any further, Sam calls his name softly, sparing the group of men and women rushing to crowd Dean a glance and signalling for them to back off. They do so but keep within diving distance. It will be easier if they give them space, however, Sam understands that they may be anticipating an episode of sorts.

Under his breath, Dean’s repeating _Sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry!_ And Sam has never felt worse in his entire existence. He can’t excuse Dean’s behaviour or he’ll assume it’s appropriate. That much is true, and he fully intends to assist him in seeing that. For now, he needs to calm him down, and perhaps have a word with Crowley about not stepping on his toes, like he claimed not to be doing, when that’s exactly what he was doing. Conflicting ideas aren’t going to help Dean at all in this situation. He needs to focus on one thing so that he can process it. Sam gets that he’s been here practically a second, but Dean has chosen to listen to him. Crowley will have to respect that, moving forward.

“Dean… _Hey_ , can you look at me? It’s okay. I’m not mad at you, all right?” Sam soothes, eyes relaxed, a small smile playing on his lips as Dean’s lids flutter open and he looks everywhere but at Sam, anger fading but shame still apparent. “Come on, Dean. Where’s my _brave hero_?”

Dean perks up at that, licking his lips and pointing at himself with his thumbs. “ _I’m a brave hero_ ,” he says quietly, barely above register. Sam makes a show of not being able to hear him, so Dean repeats himself with a bit more confidence, puffing up his chest and assuming a hero pose, similar to Superman. “ _Don’t worry, Citizens, I’ll save you!_ ”

“ _There_ he _is_ ,” Sam croons, glad to see that Dean’s starting to calm down. He needs to get the point across that speaking that way won’t be tolerated, in a way that doesn’t set Dean off. In a sense, this is Sam’s first challenge. Hm. Not even been four hours, he ruminates, bending forward and clasping his hands together. “Dean, do you _understand_ what you did wrong?”

Dean starts fidgeting, humming a tune that Sam can’t put a name to as he twiddles his thumbs. For a while, Sam’s worried that he’s not going to respond to him at all, literally on the edge of his seat waiting for Dean to say something. Fortunately, he closes the distance between them, twirls a lock of Sam’s hair around his digits and nods his head.

“I was rude. Shouldn’a said it. ‘m Sorry.” Sam releases a breath when Dean’s cheeks stretch once again, telling Dean it’s not him he needs to apologise to, so Dean aims the same words at Crowley, his tone far less apologetic, Sam notes.

Whether he believes him to be genuine or not, Crowley accepts his apology. Sam can’t see the man’s face, and he’s fine with that. Dean still has a look in his eyes like he’s worried he’s upset him, which cuts Sam to his core, unconsciously tilting his head so that his cheek makes contact with Dean’s wrist. Magnetic green hues shift to the point of contact, a cheeky grin following it. This is probably a mistake, also, but he’s far too relieved to have taken that look of anguish off of Dean’s face to care.

“Now that that’s settled, Dean. What do you say we rejoin the group?”

“Okay, Sammy!”


	3. I Like Helping!

As odd as it may be to feel a sense of pride watching Dean feed himself, Sam’s not looking too far into it. He’s glad that Dean has no difficulty using his plastic utensils, stabbing through the cuts of meat and popping them into his mouth. He hums around his food, emitting noises that belong in places far less adult friendly. Yet another role in life that’s far easier than Sam would like to imagine Dean fulfilling. At this point, he’s waiting for the day where he takes on Dean as an older brother type or adoptive cousin—anything to steer him from future inappropriate thoughts, made worse by Dean’s agonizingly long licking of his lips. 

Sam trains his eyes on the table when he goes to do it the next time, Dean’s dissecting stare rooted to Sam’s face the entire time he eats. At the beginning of the meal, Sam found out that Dean talks with his mouth full, so Sam promised him he could talk all he wanted after he finishes his meal. Between appreciative moans, Dean’s actually shovelling bite after bite into his mouth, stuffing it so full his cheeks resemble that of a chipmunk collecting its stash for the winter-weeks. Sam’s marginally concerned that he’s going to choke if he keeps that up, but Dean grins around the mouthful, nodding his head before swallowing it down bit by bit. Naturally, Sam avoids watching his Adam’s apple bobbing. 

While Dean works on polishing off the rest of his meal, Sam prompting him to sip some water between morsels, Sam reflects on his first day so far. Dean’s decided to monopolise his entire day, apparently, insisting that other Nurses can handle situations that Sam sees happening around them. And, if he’s being honest, Dean’s not wrong. He would only end up being one more hulking presence standing over them, taking up more air. Still, Sam vowed from the get-go that he would help wherever he could. 

They’ve known each other around seven hours now, and he can’t say that he’s even seen Dean acknowledge anyone else, fully. He spoke to Katie, the receptionist, and he glared at Crowley when he was telling the man off for being a  _ meany-bo-neany-panini,  _ as Dean put it which Sam had to bite his tongue to stop from laughing aloud at, instead, informing Dean that it should stay between them. Dean agreed to it, saying he likes having little secrets with Sam, promising that he won’t even tell Cas, the angel, who he apparently tells everything. Also, Dean confessed that he wouldn’t be able to keep  _ him  _ a secret from Cas because he’s far too excited to talk all night about him. Sam was instantly warmed by the notion, though a nagging voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Crowley told him he should put a stop to it. 

Sam feels powerless against this beautiful man sitting across from him, eyes alight with joy as he watches Sam’s face and generously chews his food. Several times over, he has told himself that he needs to put distance between them, throw up walls in his head to keep Dean out, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Not even enough to tell Dean to stop playing footsie with him under the table, a compromise that Sam had to make because Dean wanted to sit on his lap— _ his lap,  _ claiming that that’s what he does with Benny, and then adding that he would also be happy with Sam sitting on his lap instead, with a grin so wide Sam’s surprised his cheeks didn’t literally split. Sam had questioned him subtly about why he sits on Benny’s lap. Alarm bells had been going off inside his head since Missouri told him about the members of Staff planning to take advantage of Dean. In Dean’s words, Benny doesn’t mind, just tells him not to wriggle or sit back too far, which Sam can’t help agreeing with, knowing what that type of stimulation would do. To him… Probably not this Benny character, who’s used to Dean’s tricks. 

Thinking about this Benny person makes Sam smile without even knowing him, yet. It’s nice to know that Dean has someone in his life that treats him like he’s something precious, worth protecting. And Sam can see why, pointing to a napkin to signal Dean to wipe his face. He does so, after a litany of requests for Sam to do it for him. Sam eventually wins him over by saying big boys wipe their own faces, so Dean makes an epic show of doing it, claiming he’s a big boy, even when he’s not wearing his  _ big boy pants.  _ At the continued mention of being a  _ big boy _ and  _ not wearing pants,  _ Sam finds himself shifting the topic to something else, thrilled that Dean doesn’t realise at all, setting his cutlery on top of his plate and thanking the room for the meal. Dean explains that it’s what Ellen asked them to do before and after every meal time, that they were thanking some dude with a long white beard who took a break on Sunday or something. Sam couldn’t help checking Dean’s neck for a cross of some kind, having not known that he’s religious. But then… He does talk to an Angel, so Sam supposes it makes sense. 

“So… Now that I’m finished with my dinner, can I show you my room now?” Dean asks, reaching out his hands to curl his fingers around Sam’s arched digits. “I have lots of toys! And posters, and a double bed. It’s really comfy, you can lie on it with me.” 

Sam’s faced with a bit of dilemma here. Something tells him that saying no will cause Dean some type of upset, but there’s absolutely  _ zero  _ chance that he can go to his room with him, not unless he’s administering a sedative or, in rare cases with patients suffering from clinical depression, changing their respective  _ bags _ . Dean’s not in need of a sedative, and he’s not clinically depressed, as far as Sam has been told. Across the table, Dean’s staring at him with bated breath, the eagerness to show how  _ awesome  _ his room is radiating off of him, knees bouncing underneath the table, thumping the underside more than once. 

“Dean… It’s your responsibility as a Superhero to keep your hideout hidden from everyone. What happens when Batman reveals the Batcave, huh? Someone always gets hurt. Even if it means keeping it from me, your friend, it’s the right thing to do, because what does Uncle Ben say to Spiderman?” 

Dean plays with his fingers for a bit, tugging until Sam lays his arm flat along the table. Dean looks into his eyes then, nodding his head as he recites the line, “ _ With great power comes great responsibility. _ ” 

“Exactly. So be a good hero and don’t show anyone your room.” 

“Not even Benny?” 

“All Superheroes need a sidekick,” Sam replies with a smile, resisting the urge to tap Dean’s nose. 

Dean wrinkles it as though he felt the fantastical weight. “Why can’t  _ you _ be  _ my _ Boy Wonder?” 

“I don’t have the hair for it,” Sam jokes, ignoring the throb in his chest as Dean laughs heartily, tracing Sam’s knuckles with the tips of his fingers. “I’ll be your  _ Nightwing _ . He deals with things outside of Gotham, right?” 

Dean nods his head, a smile playing at his lips like he’s loving how much Sam knows about his favourite Superhero team. “Okay. I’ll keep my secret lair a secret. Don’ tell anyone ‘bout it.” 

Sam crosses his heart with his free hand,  _ zips  _ his lips and then swallows an imaginary key. Dean grins his approval, mimicking his actions with gusto, keeping his hold on Sam’s hand steady throughout. He can feel the pressure of disapproving eyes taking in their positions, surprised to conclude that he already doesn’t care, blocking them out in favour of listening to Dean talk about some of his more memorable dreams, where he saves people with his ability to turn the baddies in to piles of poop, since that’s what they are to him. Sam laughs at the image, Dean blinking at random adversaries that resemble a spiral of shit moments later, provoking his face to crease in disgust. Dean comments on his facial expression, saying that Benny made the same face when he told him two weeks ago. 

He’s not sure how long they sit there talking. Well, Dean talks. Sam pretty much exclusively listens and asks follow-up questions, steering the conversation back to Dean whenever he poses a personal question. Dean frowns for a fraction of a second when Sam deflects, moving onto the next thing that he wants to say seconds later, apparently used to being shut out of people’s personal lives. Sam feels awful, wishing he could tell Dean whatever he wants to know about him. He can’t, though. It’s not appropriate. 

In the middle of Dean telling Sam about the time he and Benny spent all day at the arcade because Dean really wanted a certain toy from the crane machine, Sam realizes that it’s time for evening tablets, rising slowly so Dean won’t be jolted before following along with him. Which he does, seeming to realise himself, pressing closer to Sam’s side than he probably should as he tells him it’ll be bedtime soon, and then adds on whether or not Sam’s going to stay the night, as if Dean’s offering him his spare bedroom. Sam decides to avoid answering, for now, leading Dean to the office, where he knows someone is already waiting there for him. 

Outside the office, he stills, squeezing Dean’s hand. Dean squeezes back and smiles up at him, swinging his hips a little. 

Sam clears his throat. “Dean, I’m gonna need you to wait out here for me for just a few minutes, okay?” 

“Can’t I go in there with you?” Dean squeezes his hand harder, shoulders tensing. “I’ll be quiet, I promise. I don’ wanna stay out here on my own, Sammy.” 

“But then who will watch out for the spies this time?” Sam coos, reminding Dean of his earlier words. “I don’t feel safe with anyone else as my bodyguard.” 

Dean’s eyes sparkle at that, puffing out his chest and replying in an even deeper voice, “Don’t worry, Sammy! I’ll protect you. No one will get past me.” 

Sam contemplates rephrasing just in case Dean takes it seriously and lays someone out while he’s in there, which he does not doubt for a second he can do. Sam takes his hand back, not missing the searching reach of Dean’s own before he situates them behind his back, pushing his chest out and squaring his shoulders. 

“All right. I’ll just be a minute,” Sam says, entering the office without another word. 

*

Dean counts in his head.  _ One, two, three _ . Sammy said just a minute, so he’s gonna be a minute. That’s all Dean has to wait for him to come back, all smiley and hand in his again. 

_ Four, five, six.  _ Dean wishes Sam was back already. He misses his hand. Warm and soft. Feels nice in his. Right. Like it belongs there. Dean fidgets, clenches his fists.  _ Unclenches _ , thinks about Sammy’s bright smile, dimples and pretty face. 

_ Seven, eight, nine.  _ Sam is so sweet and so cool. Dean’s glad he met him. Can’t believe someone so cool and awesome likes him back. He has a cute laugh, too. His nose crinkles and his dimples get wider. Dean wishes he had a camera. 

_ Ten, eleven, twelve.  _ Wants to take lots of pictures of Sam’s pretty face, pretty smile, pretty everything. Dean tilts his head from side to side.  _ Hums _ .  _ Fidgets _ , checks his invisible watch.  _ Sweats _ . 

_ Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen.  _ Sammy makes Dean smile, feel happy, wanna jump up and dance.  _ Beat, beat, beat,  _ his heart goes and then misses the fourth one sometimes. Happens around awesome people. Like Dean, Sam says. Dean must be super awesome because it happened twice!

_ Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen.  _ Sam will be back soon. He said he would. Just a minute, he told Dean. Just a minute and he’ll be back with him, holding his hand and talkin’ ‘bout movies.  _ Clenches. Jaw tics. Fidgets.  _

_ Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one.  _ Dean wants to knock. It hasn’t been a minute, but twenty seconds is enough time… He thinks.  _ Shoulders sag. Head dips. Smile fades. Bites lip.  _

_ Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four.  _ Sam said a minute, so he can wait a minute. He has his big boy pants. He can do it. Dean’s gonna do it for Sam, gonna be good for him. The best, like he said earlier. Wants to hear the  _ ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump  _ again.  _ Fidgets. Crosses arms. Lowers head. Scuffs foot.  _

_ Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven.  _ Remember what Cas says about bein’ patient. Dean can do it. Benny tells him that, too, when he’s using the bathroom. Dean can’t stand in there with him, he says. Private time or something. Maybe Sam will let him?  _ Fidgets. Rolls shoulders. Blinks. No Sammy.  _

_ Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.  _ Cas also tells him he asks too many questions. Like why he has no wings. Or why he sounds like  _ Siri.  _ Or why he looks like an accountant. Dean’s uncle is an accountant. And he looks like Cas. So Cas looks like an accountant. Benny told him about accounting and stuff. Dean was bored, thought of Batman fighting bad guys. 

_ Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three.  _ Dean thinks about cars. Cool cars. Muscle cars.  _ Fidgets. Smacks lips. Blinks again. No Sammy.  _

_ Thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six.  _ Sam smells like Christmas and candy and fruit. So sweet and happy. He smiles at Dean. He’s nice to Dean, doesn’t tell him he’s inappropriate. Doesn’t tell him to step back. Doesn’t tell him to let go of him. Kind, sweet, nice.  _ Hums. Clenches fists. Unclenches. Waits.  _

_ Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine.  _ Dean can’t wait more. Doesn’t want to! But Sam said wait. For a minute. Just a minute. Dean can do this. He can. Doesn’t wanna let Sam down.  _ Fidgets. Swings. Swallows. Sweats.  _

_ Forty, forty-one, forty-two.  _ Dean feels cold. Wants Sam’s hand. Wants to hold him. Dean misses him. Misses his smile, laugh, pretty face.  _ Sweats. Fidgets. Scratches. Waits.  _

_ Forty-three, forty-four, forty-five.  _ Sam will be back soon. He said he would. Sam tells Dean the truth. He’s nice to him, talks about Batman and Superheroes and laughs at his quotes.  _ Breathes. Fidgets. Scuffs foot. Clenches.  _

_ Forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight.  _ Sam called him his hero. Dean can wait for him. Heroes have patience. Heroes wait for the right moment. Dean can do it, too.  _ Jaw tics. Unclenches. Breathes out. Scuffs foot. Fidgets.  _

_ Forty-nine, fifty, fifty-one.  _ Ten more seconds. That’s all. Gonna be fine. Sam’ll be back. He’ll smile at Dean, take his hand. Squeeze and squeeze back. His heart will go  _ ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump  _ again. Dean nods, chews his lip. 

_ Fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four.  _ Dean breathes in and out, watches the door.  _ Blinks. No Sammy.  _

_ Fifty-five, fifty-six, fifty-seven. Clenches. Unclenches. Fidgets. Bites lip. Jaw tics.  _

_ Fifty-eight…  _ Dean steps up to the door, rests his head on it. Sam will be here. Just a minute. 

_ Fifty-nine…  _ Dean reaches his hand up, clenches his fist.  _ Waits.  _

_ Sixty.  _

Dean knocks. And knocks. And knock and knocks and knocks. 

_ It’s been a minute!  _

*

Sam was loading up the medicine cart when he heard the knocking, immediately drawing his attention away from it. For a moment, he panics that something might have happened to Dean, steeling his nerves and gearing up to answer the door. He frowns, then, sharing a look with Ruby, who seems to be failing at schooling her judgemental expression, having already advised him ten times over that he needs to keep Dean’s at arm’s length, that she’s seen what he’s like with Benny, and if he’s projecting that onto Sam, things are about to get severely unethical. 

“Sammy? Sam?! It’s been a minute. You said just a minute. I waited,” Dean reminds him, knocks getting louder. “I know it’s been a minute because I counted. One, two, three, see? Sammy?!” 

Ruby shoots him a deprecatory look, crossing her arms over her chest after locking up the cart. Sam smiles sheepishly, moving over to the door to open it. As soon as it flies open, Dean’s grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the room, pressing his ear to his heart and voicing out the beats. 

“ _ Ba-dump, ba-dump, bad-dump,  _ no skip. Hmm,” Dean hums, discreetly moving them further away from the door as Ruby pushes the cart out of the room. Dean steers him away from Ruby, not even offering her a word of greeting. “Ruby can handle the pills. She does it all the time.” 

Sam breathes out a breath and steps out of Dean’s hold, accepting the hand Dean throws towards his own, swatting at the air until he latches on. “Dean, I have to do the rounds. It’s important. You need to take your pills, too, mister.” 

Dean whines and butts his shoulder. “But it’s bedtime after pills.” 

“I know, Dean.”

“I don’t wanna go to bed. Don’t want to stop talking to you yet.” 

“Every Hero needs their rest,” Sam says with a smile, ignoring Ruby’s subtle, scathing look. “Now you need to go wait with everyone else, Dean. I’ll be with you as soon as possible.” 

Dean stops them both, feet firmly planted on the ground. “No. I don’ wanna go sit with them. I wanna stay with you,” he states with conviction, halting Sam’s departure. “Ruby can do it. She’s good at it. Knows what to do. You can stay here with me. I didn’t get to tell you ‘bout me and Benny at the arcade.” 

Sam has to think of a way to calm the waters, fast. Dean’s getting stressed out, sweating more than he was earlier. His shirt is starting to cling to him, muscles even more pronounced. Sam cuts his eyes away from the visual, squeezing Dean’s hand reassuringly in his own until Dean exhales a breath and relaxes a little. 

“How about this, Dean… You can push the cart—”

“He  _ cannot  _ push the cart. Sam, that’s—”

“It’s just the cart. He won’t touch the medicine, will you, Dean?” 

Dean shakes his head, a dopey smile on his face as he says, “I like helping! I can do it. I can push the cart,” he assures them, dragging Sam over to the cart and putting his hands on it, fingers flexing like he’s changing his mind. “Push it with me?” 

“This is unbelievable,” Ruby mutters, snatching the checklist off the top of the cart, her face completely belying her true feelings as she offers Dean a smile, though it comes across as more of a grimace. Sam nearly scowls at her. “Be careful, Dean. Don’t push the cart too hard.” 

Dean talks to Sam like she hadn’t said anything, “I want you to give me my pills, Sam.” 

“I’ll do that, Dean, but you have to be good and go to bed after, all right?” 

Begrudgingly, Dean nods his head, smile not reaching his eyes. It makes Sam feel sick, but he has to push on,  _ literally,  _ holding one side of the cart with a hand, Dean’s thumb knuckle pressing into him as they walk. Luckily, Dean starts smiling again when they get to their first patient, and he gleefully explains that he’s helping today, turning his face to Sam each time with gratitude in his eyes. Sam likes the look on him, telling him to keep the cart still as Ruby unlocks it and brings the tray up onto the top, handing over the first cap. Sam watches as she makes a note and then ticks a box, smiling at  _ Sara,  _ before moving onto the next one. 

The whole way through the list, Dean proudly tells anyone that will listen that he’s pushing the cart, that he gets to help and be useful, face souring when it’s time for his pills. Sam takes the cap from Ruby, who looks like she’s about ready to keel over, eyes glued to the way Dean’s gripping Sam’s wrist as he hands him the cap. Dean knocks it back, dismissing Ruby entirely the whole way, making a show of proving that he swallowed his pills to Sam, lifting his tongue up and everything. Sam ignores the length of it.

With Dean’s turn out of the way, he goes back to pushing the cart with pride, calling himself Doctor Dean and asking the patients random questions that make little to no sense. Sam keeps himself from laughing about it, thanking  _ Doctor Dean  _ for his assistance, which earns him a megawatt smile. 

The long day draws to a close for Sam twenty minutes later, everyone having had their pills and it being hometime for him. He’s more exhausted than he thought he would be, yawning into his free hand as Dean swings his arm towards the first doors they went through together, purposefully walking at a snail's pace to postpone the inevitable, it seems. He’s actually stopping to  _ deal with things  _ he doesn’t need to do, like tying his imaginary shoelace or counting the amount of gambling chips left on the table or pretending he saw something a few steps back, pointing exaggeratedly at nothing. Sam finds it adorable, but he’s not going to say that, since it’s also concerning. This is his first day and Dean’s coming up with every excuse he can to keep him here. 

At the final hurdle, he feels Dean wrap his arms around him from behind and tighten his hold. Sam clears his throat and tells Dean he’ll see him tomorrow. At his admission, the arms around him tighten and he feels Dean’s head shaking against the back of his neck. 

“Don’ wanna wait that long, Sammy.” 

“It’s okay, Dean. Once you go to bed, you’ll close your eyes and then  _ poof _ , it’s the next day and we can talk again,” Sam assures him, weakly attempting to extricate himself from the hold. “Come on, my brave hero, you’ve gotta let me go for the night. Heroes do the rescuing, after all, not the capturing.” 

“I’m your brave hero?” 

“The bravest.”

Dean sniffs and nuzzles his neck. “But I don’ want you to go,” he admits, fiddling with the hem of Sam’s shirt. “I want you to stay here. With me!”

Sam’s heart aches, breaths coming shorter. “How about this, Dean. You let me go home, and when I come in tomorrow, I’ll bring you a slice of pie. You like pie, right?” 

At the mention of pie, Dean perks up, spinning Sam around in his arms and clapping his hands on his shoulders. “Pie? You’ll bring me pie? Pecan pie?” 

“Whatever pie you want, but you gotta let me go, so I can get you some, okay?” 

Dean nods his head vehemently then, letting go and stepping back, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I’ll see you tomorrow, right? With pie?” 

“With pie,” Sam agrees, walking through the doors, smile melting off his face as it closes behind him. He has the urge to poke his head back and tell Dean to go to bed, but he’s sure from that look of determination that Dean will make his own way back there.

Katie greets him as he walks up to sign out, asking him how his first day went. He tells her that he never thought he could enjoy working so much, gushing about all the time that he spent with Dean. She seems to be the only one that doesn’t look at him like he’s some kind of creep, listening intently to his run down of his day, arching a curious brow at the end when he mentions having to promise to bring Dean pie when he comes back in tomorrow. 

“Just a heads up. Don’t ask if he wants to share, because he will have a meltdown,” she warns him with a finger wag, and Sam has to wonder how she stays so sane with the hours that she works. “Years of practise,” she answers his thought as though she heard it. “Have a good night, Sam.” 

Sam wishes her the same and then heads out of the building, a huge sigh escaping him when he’s in the driver's seat of his car, trying to not think about a sunshine face and shamrock green eyes. 

*

Castiel teleported to Dean’s room ten minutes prior, but has yet to reveal himself. He’s unfamiliar as to what he should do in this situation, watching his charge toss and turn in his bed, kicking at the covers, covering his head with his pillow to muffle his enraged scream. In all the years that Castiel has been watching over Dean Smith, admittedly one of his more favoured assignments, having cemented a profound bond with the man over time.. He has never seen him quite like this. The closest scenario to which he can compare Dean’s current state would be the night he was taken away from Benjamin Lafitte for the first time, when he refused to sleep the entire night, greeting the day with dark circles around his eyes and swollen lids from the repeated shedding of tears. Castiel had felt something akin to a desire to rid Dean of his Demons, then, if only to take the hurt away for a short while. 

He didn’t. Castiel is not permitted to intervene with Father’s plan, only watch out for those that serve a greater purpose. While he fully intends to carry out his mission, he, himself, can’t help wondering as to why someone as overwhelmingly  _ good  _ as Dean, would be dealt such a cruel twist of fate. It doesn’t seem fair to Castiel, who bestows the power to vanquish Dean of his inadequacies, holding the key to grant him a more independent life, whereby he stands a greater chance of finding fulfillment within it. More so than he does now, fisting his sheets and crying out to no one in particular. 

Eventually, Castiel feels it would be less cruel for him to remain hidden, allowing Dean to think that he’s alone, when that is not the case. If anything, perhaps Castiel can afford Dean a sense of comfort during his time of anguish. 

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel greets, entering with a mild flutter. Dean stiffens before turning over on his bed, blinking dazedly at him, as though he were unaware as to whether or not Castiel was indeed standing at the foot of his bed. “How are you?” 

Dean frowns, sitting up and crossing his legs. “You’re late, Cas,” he accuses, crossing his arms over his chest to display how displeased he is with Castiel’s late arrival. 

“My apologies. I was speaking with another of God’s children.” 

“Whatever. See if I care,” he grumps, turning back over and flopping on the pillow, body curling in on itself. If Castiel were not an Angel of the Lord, he would not have heard Dean’s continued, muffled words, “You’re not Sammy, so it don’ matter.”

Evidently, whoever this  _ Sammy  _ is has apparently become more favoured than he since the last time he spoke with Dean. 

“Who is  _ Sammy,  _ Dean?” 

Dean whirls back around, the smile on his face displaying that Castiel asked the correct question. “Sammy is new here. He’s cute and he’s nice to me. He’s _this_ tall and he likes my Batman quotes. He’s funny and smart. And he has a nice laugh. He’s got these dimples and he lets me hold his hand. Doesn’ tell me to leggo or that it’s not _appropriate._ He says I’m a brave hero and he let me push the cart. Said he’s gonna bring me pie tomorrow! I’m so excited for it! He’s so cool and thinks I’m awesome. He’s pretty, too. I like his face. He gets tense a lot. I tried to help, but _meany-bo--_ I mean, uh, Crowley made it worse! Sammy was too tight. Couldn’ relax n’matta what I did. S’okay, though! I waited for him outside, and I was the best! I kept all the spies away like Sam told me to. I’m his brave hero, he told me. Said that heroes need their rest, too, that I’m one’a them. I didn’ wan’ him to leave, Cas… I wanted him to stay here with me. Here. He didn’ get to see how comfy my bed is. Said that it’s my secret lair and I should keep it a secret. So I will. Not allowed to let anyone in. Except Benny because every Hero needs a sidekick!” 

Castiel listens to Dean talk about this  _ Sam/Sammy  _ character, reminded immediately of how Dean professes his fondness of Benny, his adoptive brother. Yet, there seems to be something more to it, from what Castiel can gather. He can’t say that he’s seen Dean this excited about a person before, jaw flapping wildly as he regales Castiel about his entire day with Sam. 

On the one hand, Castiel is pleased that Dean has found someone he wants to have a real connection with. On the other hand, he will do some further investigating to make sure that Sam is not a threat to this man. 

“I don’t understand the reference,” Castiel says, brows pinched as Dean talks about a thing called the Death Star. 

Dean rolls his eyes as though Castiel is asinine, pointing to one of his posters on the wall with the words  _ Star Wars  _ written across the top in black and yellow lettering. Ah, yes. That again. 

“You don’ watch enough movies, Cas!”


	4. I Can Wait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really glad that people are enjoying this. I'm having a lot of fun with this sweet, innocent, funny, cute Dean and protective, kind, caring Sam. :) 
> 
> I get that it's controversial, but I think it's a story worth telling, so I'll push through even if by the end there's even just one reader who gets to hear the message within.

The first touch of the morning light on Sam’s face is an unwelcome addition, body turning over to escape it. He pulls the covers over his head when it breaks through the dark void in his mind’s eye, prompting him to bury his face under his pillow, groaning out in frustration when his door bangs against the wall. Without needing to look up, Sam knows Charlie hasn’t slept a wink from the night before, either video chatting with the girl from the coffee shop or raiding with her group of friends on World of Warcraft. Sam can’t judge her for the late nights. He’s been his own worst enemy where those are concerned more than he can count on two hands with extra digits. That doesn’t mean that he’s happy about her tapping his back and harping on about how she successfully wiped out an entire guild of Alliance raiders, when he’s thoroughly intending on catching a few more winks of sleep before facing the world again. 

“Dude, you didn’t even come and see me last night. Which, y’know, rude. I wasn’t  _ that  _ far gone that I wouldn’t have noticed your presence in the doorway. Well, at least for a couple of seconds between painting the battlefield with the blood of my enemies,” Charlie prattles on, poking him in the side intermittently. His disgruntled huff goes completely unnoticed. “I  _ did  _ hear you talking on the phone to Jess, though. All I heard was Dean this, Dean that. Makes a girl wonder.” 

And with that tone of voice wordlessly dictating that there’s no chance that he’s going to be able to, both, avoid this conversation or go back to sleep, Sam rolls onto his back and flicks his hands through his hair, secretly hoping that Aliens will deem Earth to be a rotten wasteland not worth saving, wiping all of them out, so that he can finally have some peace. He sends a silent thanks somewhere that he fell asleep with a shirt on. It’s not that he has a problem with Charlie seeing him shirtless. Just, modesty and all that. 

Sam’s a little surprised that she caught wind of him talking to Jess about his first day at work. He doesn’t think he had been  _ that  _ loud while he walked Jess through each step of his day. Waking up feeling sick with nerves, the tension he felt while driving to work and nearly flipping some asshole off, meeting Katie, his first interaction with Dean, talking to Missouri and Bobby, the things that happened after. Jess carefully offered her opinion on Dean’s lack of personal space, which Sam vehemently pointed out that he can handle himself, and Dean’s not hurting him just  _ holding  _ his hand. Even though, from his training, he knows that it’s not normal, that the right thing to do would be to cut those types of interactions off at the knees, it’s as if Dean’s an ethereal flame, and Sam’s nothing but a gormless moth attracted to the flickers in a world severely lacking light. 

For a while, Jess had argued smartly with him, until he asked her politely to let it go. He disclosed that he had no intention of letting it get to that in the first place, but he assured her that if she’s ever lucky enough to meet Dean, she will understand herself why it’s nigh on impossible not to be enraptured from just one look, which she also had a few things to say about, hinting in the safest way possible that Sam could be allowing his  _ attraction  _ for this man to cloud his judgment. Which he is not. Yes, Dean is physically stunning and any man, woman, other would be stupid to pass on an opportunity, but when his personality is taken into account, Sam’s overwhelming need to protect Dean outweighs his breathtaking aesthetic, almost to the point of scaring Sam to death. 

He sincerely doesn’t want to know what he would be capable of if push came to shove with regards to Dean. With any luck, he’ll never have to potentially beat someone bloody for taking advantage of him. That’s his hope, reminding himself hourly that  _ people  _ had tried in the past to  _ use  _ Dean. They didn’t succeed. They didn’t  _ do  _ anything to him, yet the thought alone is enough to have Sam’s blood boiling, teeth gritted and fists clenched by his sides. He truly, truly hopes that that day never comes. Because if it does, he might become a murderer, and he’s not even sure he would regret it. 

“So… Spill. Who’s Dean?” Charlie definitely isn’t going to back down, Sam thinks exasperatedly. 

“He’s one of my Patients,” he offers with a shrug, biting back a smile at the mere mention. “Was practically glued to my hip all day yesterday.” 

“Kinky,” Charlie says with a leer, rolling her eyes at Sam’s appalled expression. “I’m kidding. Geez. Take a joke, dude.” 

Sam fills her in on their interactions, her eyebrows steadily rising further towards her hairline as he goes on, failing to keep the affection out of his voice as he laughs about Dean telling Crowley off, sobering right after when he explains Dean’s mini meltdown at  _ being _ told off. Charlie’s eyes say she understands how hard that must have been for him to watch, and she’s not wrong. Seeing Dean pulling at his hair, red-faced and degrading himself, sent sharp pain after sharp pain directly to Sam’s gut. She chortles at Dean’s nickname for Crowley, calling him a Wordsmith, which has Sam laughing along with her, finally starting to feel more awake. 

“Did you get him the pie?” 

Nodding, Sam throws back the covers and shifts out of bed, briefly checking his phone. “I got three different ones. I wasn’t sure which he would like, so…”

“Oh my God. You’re adorable,” Charlie teases, flopping down on her back. “I want a girl who buys me three different pies because she doesn’t know which one I like,” she almost whines, grinning at him. “Relax, dear, I’m not implying that Dean is your boyfriend. Although, from what you’ve told me so far, from thinking you're cute, wanting you to lie in bed with him and, y’know, not letting you go for a single minute, I’d say that there’s a good chance he likes you.” 

Without his permission, Sam’s cheeks flame and he sets his lips in a thin line, unplugging his charger and noting the time, glaring at Charlie when he realises it’s not even 7 A.M. yet. She shrugs her shoulders, again, splaying her hair out on his bed. He dismisses her for a moment as he checks his messages, frowning when he sees one from Jess apologising to him for coming across as accusing last night. Quickly, he thumbs a reply that she has nothing to apologise for, not wanting her to feel guilty for any longer than she has to. He didn’t even disagree with what she said, entirely, he just has confidence in himself that he can handle Dean without it getting any more inappropriate. He hopes. 

“I understand where you’re coming from, Charlie. I do, but I’m not going to let it get that far. He’s just… Lonely. He talks to an  _ angel  _ at night, he has  _ zero  _ friends at the Centre because they’re either besotted with him or intimidated by him. Is it so bad to give him this one thing, when he’s already denied so much?” 

Charlie looks contemplative for a full thirty seconds, eyes darting around like she’s in the middle of cracking a particularly difficult firewall. She nods when she’s done, rolling onto her front and pressing her fists under her chin, appraising Sam as he tucks hair behind his ear. Sam stills under her gaze, the sudden urge to stare at his feet sounding more and more like a pleasant distraction. He’s not sure why he’s so nervous under her purview, though it could have to do with her intuition, and coming out with the harsh truths that he’s almost always grateful for, since they often turn out to be exactly what he needed to hear. And yet, he feels his hackles rising, defensive counters already compiling at the end of his tongue, ready to fire when ready.

“Sam… If you give Dean something as basic as human kindness and a shoulder to cry on, I don’t see a problem with it. Maybe this is how it was meant to be, some destiny bullshit,” Charlie eventually says, and Sam sags with relief. “Just remember that you can’t save everyone, or he won’t be the only one who gets hurt, dude.” 

It’s a bit out of left field, but Sam can see where she’s coming from. He knows that she’s talking about Henry. Logic dictates that there’s nothing that he can do to cure Henry of his short-comings, to make his life more bearable, but he can’t seem to swallow down the guilt before it rises up every time he leaves his house, knowing that he can open his mouth and speak to whoever he wants to, just talk and talk at length with no end in sight, when Henry can’t even say  _ hello  _ to them. Speech is something that everyone takes for granted, really. There may be other methods, such as sign language and lip-reading. It’s just not the same. It’s not the same as having a dialogue with a good friend, the person across the street, the bookstore clerk--being able to communicate with whoever you want at any given time. 

Other than the small detail of being able to speak, Sam wouldn’t change Henry for the world. He makes Sam laugh more than most comedians with his eyerolls and eyebrow quirks, lip pops and hand gestures. It’s the little things that Sam has learnt to truly appreciate with Henry, having to focus far harder than he would on any normal conversation, keeping his eyes peeled for any changes in posture that could show distress or otherwise. After being in his corner for all of these years, there’s not much that gets by Sam where Henry is concerned, and he would struggle to find anyone out there that understands him better, even without Henry’s own admission of that, something that Sam still can’t help but preen over. 

Charlie seems content to wait for him to come back to reality, kicking her legs back and forth up in the air and tapping away on her phone. Sam tries to ignore her teeth sinking into her lip, thinking that it’s best not to comment on it, unless he wants a mental picture of what brought it on. Which he doesn’t. Not today, not a week or month from now--never. 

Forced to think it over, Sam knows that she has a point, and he’ll most likely end up conceding it. A voice in the back of his head tells him that it’s not going to matter, that he can convince himself all he wants that when he turns up for his shift later on and sees Dean again, he’ll put across that they need to quit it with the overzealous touching--it won’t stick, the voice implores that he’s not going to say anything about it, that he’ll accept all of the hands and arms that Dean wants to give him. Because he’s weak. _No_ , he cares. Sam mutes the voice, knowing that having an argument with himself isn’t going to get him anywhere. 

Morally correct or not. Ethically correct or not. Reasonable or not--Sam’s not going to deny Dean the human contact that he’s been craving. The poor man is probably touch starved, Sam recalling that Dean had mentioned more than once that the rest of the staff keep their distance, that he’s so happy that Sam lets him hold his hand. It broke Sam’s heart to think about Dean holding his own hand, wishing for another to grasp while most of the other Patients were not denied that comfort. 

Sam witnessed on multiple occasions Patients being walked down the halls with a hand in their own, a reassuring pat here and there, even one or two hugs. Regardless of whether or not Dean might have a penchant of being on the clingier side, he shouldn’t be denied so much as a pat on the back. It’s absurd that he would be ignored for others, slowly retreating further and further into himself with each passing day. That look on Dean’s face that told him he was worried that Sam had been moments away from backing off from him like everyone else showed up in Sam’s dreams last night, his body breaking out in a cold sweat three hours into a restless sleep. It’s not something Sam wants to get used to seeing. 

“Right, well… I’m gonna go sleep now. I don’t wanna be around when you start tearing up the place,” Charlie says, dragging him from his thoughts. She looks concerned, the edge to her eyes provoking him to check himself in the mirror, where he spots the redness in his cheeks and tight jaw, stretching it out in an effort to relieve the tension. He didn’t realise he was working himself up so much over his thoughts, bracing a hand on the wall and breathing out sharply. “Just take it easy, Sam… Don’t stress yourself too much over this, m’kay?” 

His head turns when his door closes with a soft click, left in the room to get his breath back, anger draining from him with each exhale. On the third deep breath, he wonders how Dean slept last night, if he’s had his breakfast yet and took his pills, if he’s in a good mood. 

Wow. Sam’s in deeper than he thought. 

*

Sammy will be here soon! Dean can’t wait. He’s super excited, knees bouncing on the chair, feet  _ tap, tap, tapping  _ on the floor. Kat-litter smiles at him. Asks him what he’s so excited about. He tells her Sam will be here soon. That he starts at 3 P.M. Which is soon, the clock says. She tells him she thought Benny was coming today. That he changed his visiting date. Dean shakes his head, tells her no. No, he’s coming next Saturday. Dean’s excited to see Benny, but not right now. Right now he’s excited to see Sammy. Who’s gonna be here soon. With pie! 

Dean’s tummy rumbles and he laughs. It knows it’s getting pie. Sammy will come with pie. He said he would, so he’s gonna do it. Dean wants pecan or apple. No, cherry or blueberry. Maybe pumpkin pie! Or coconut cream. Dean licks his lips, stamps both feet, whoops at the air. 

He’s been waiting all day for this. Woke up, had pills. Brushed teeth, used toilet. Showered, watched a film. Waited and waited and waited. Came out here three hours ago. Wanted to be the first Sam sees. Wants to see Sam before anyone else. Dean will be able to see him through the glass doors. That hair. Those dimples. Wide and happy. Cute and handsome. Dean can’t wait. 

_ Fidgets. Squirms. Bites lip.  _

Ten more minutes and Sammy will be here, with pie! Dean knows it. He’s so excited. Can’t stop watching the door, hoping Sam comes early. Benny always does. Always half an hour early, and Dean waits for him by the door. Hugs him when he comes through, lifts him up and they  _ spin, spin, spin.  _ Benny says ‘ _ Good to see ya’, brotha’  _ then ruffles his hair. Dean groans, holds Benny close. Benny tells him he can’t breathe a lot. Says it’s okay, though. As long as Dean’s happy, he’ll say and kiss Dean’s cheek, and Dean will kiss his cheek back. Benny says that French people do it a lot, does a funny accent. Dean doesn't get it. 

Maybe Sam will kiss him on the cheek. Dean feels hot, rubs sweat off his forehead. Wipes palms on his pants. Sammy has soft lips, Dean thinks. Soft like Sammy. Nice like Sammy. Kind like Sammy. He laughs to himself. Lips aren’t kind, but Sam is. Doesn’t push him away, tell him to stop or that he’s too much. Inappropriate, Ruby says. She don’t get a nickname. She’s not nice. Dean doesn't like her, looks at him funny. Glares a lot. 

_ Twist. Twist. Twist. Stamp, tap, stamp.  _

Dean wants Sam. Needs him to get here now! Waiting sucks. He hates waiting. Time should speed up. Cas says no, can’t do that Dean. Can’t be a good friend and speed up time for him. Upsets the balance. Whine. Whine. Whine. Dean doesn’t care about balance. Doesn’t care about messing things up. He wants Sam to be here, and he wants him to be here now! 

_ Crosses arms. Sweats. Grits teeth.  _

It’s taking too long. Only two minutes passed. Dean deflates, pulls feet up. Butts head on knees. Cas said he just has to be patient, but it’s hard! Patience is hard. Patience is boring… He wants Sam now! 

Doesn’t wanna wait anymore. Wants Sam to come through the doors. Say hello, big smiles. Big arms. Hug Dean, tell him he’s his brave hero. Dean sniffs, butts his head again. Chest hurts,  _ sting, sting.  _ Uncomfortable. Reminds him of the stares he gets. Doesn't like those. Make his stomach flip, flip. 

Hates this. Hates having to wait. Like when Benny goes. Next week, he tells Dean. Next week and Benny’ll be here again. Not coming this week though. Stuff at the lake. Makes Dean sad, sad that Benny won’t be here on Saturday. Makes him want Sam more. Has to be brave. He’s Sammy’s brave hero. Sam says he doesn’t trust anyone else to protect him. So Dean will do it. Dean will keep him safe, fight off all the bad guys! 

Dean thinks about Sam’s smile. His grin. Those dimples, how they pop and the sun comes up! How they pop and Dean feels all gooey. Funny, warm and happy. 

He needs to see Sam. 

He needs to. 

_ Fidgets.  _

*

Nerves bubble in Sam’s gut as he sits in his car, bag in his lap filled with three different boxes of pies, for Dean. He recalls Katie telling him that he shouldn’t mention sharing the pie, that he’ll have a bad reaction to it. Since he’s only known Dean for a day, he decides that it’s best just to go along with her suggestion, not wanting to upset Dean within the first five minutes of seeing him again.

The voice that seems to be taking up a permanent spot in his brain reminds him that he’s stalling, and Sam’s not sure why. Is it because he doesn’t have to deal with the decision of telling Dean to give him some space from the safety of his car? Yeah, that might have something to do with it, filling him with self-loathing for being such a coward. Dean’s brave enough to face the world every day knowing that he’s different. Surely Sam can find the strength within to explain to Dean that all of the touches, the hugs--they’re not appropriate, and he would hate for anyone, especially Dean, to think that he’s taking advantage of him if it continues. 

But it’s hard to let go. Even after a day. It’s hard to let go of the idea that he can’t just let Dean grab onto his hand for comfort, or keep them connected in some way. It makes Dean feel good, so can it really be a bad thing? On the grandest of scales, it’s pretty minor, but Sam wasn’t born yesterday. He knows that if he doesn’t figure out a way to throw up a wall between them, Dean’s little touches could end up holding a different kind of weight to them--a weight that Sam’s not willing to be exposed to. 

How is he supposed to look into those eyes and say that, though? It seems impossible, the very thought made him nauseous. He wants to say  _ screw ethics,  _ and give Dean whatever he wants, whenever he wants it, without a clue as to why he wants that. But he does… Sam wants to be Dean’s shield, his Guardian, the one he runs to when he needs help or cries on when he’s sad. The power of Dean’s pull is something altogether frightening. Sam met Dean yesterday, and he already cannot see his life without him in it. 

What kind of mess has he gotten himself into? Not that he minds, of course. That’s the strangest part of it. He’s always felt his best when he’s taking care of others, helping them with their schoolwork, teaching them how to read, comforting them when they’re upset or nursing them back to health when they’re sick. It’s in his nature, to take care of those that he holds dear, and even those he meets on a night out. 

Sam’s not supposed to be this far gone, though. He’s supposed to keep his distance in the best way that he knows how. These protective inclinations that he has for Dean cannot be healthy, his body rippling with misplaced fear that Dean could be in danger, when he’s most likely in one of the safest places that he could ever be. It’s irrational. It’s illogical, and yet it’s all Sam can focus on, fists white-knuckling the steering wheel as he thumps his head against it. 

Charlie’s words from earlier still linger in his mind, reminding him there’s someone in his corner. While she may have her reservations towards the way in which Dean clings to him, she’s not shunning him for accepting it, knowing without needing to ask that Sam would never be  _ that  _ person that takes advantage of someone as pure and sweet as Dean, Sam’s stomach turning at the thought, bile thick in his throat. 

Swallowing it down, Sam pops open his glove compartment and fishes out a pack of mints, shaking a couple into his mouth and immediately crunching on them. At some point, he’s going to have to get out of his car. He’s been here long enough, and he wants to sign in five minutes before his shift begins, at least. 

He sighs and takes a calming breath, unfolding himself from his car, bag in hand, when he’s ready, pocketing the keys before heading for the door. The heat licks at his neck and arms, scalp tingling as he crosses over to the intercom, letting them know that it’s him just like he did the day before. The camera inclines towards him, red light flashing on and off, a buzz signalling his admittance. 

Sam clutches the bag tighter as he walks through the door, keeping his eyes trained on the floor. He’s not sure why he can’t look up yet. It’s almost as if he’s avoiding something. Something that feels suspiciously like rejection, which he shoves to the furthest corner of his mind, filed under  _ ridiculous.  _

Not one second after his body enters the building, strong arms curl around him and hoist him off the ground, spinning him more times than is probably good for his nervous stomach. It apparently makes the decision for him, face splitting into a wide grin before he can help himself as Dean chants,  _ Pie, pie, pie! Love me some pie! Pie, pie, pie!  _ all the while practically throwing Sam up and down like he just scored the final touchdown at the home game. 

“Hello… to you... too…, Dean!” Sam pants out, momentarily blinded by Dean’s megawatt smile, eyes shining with glee as he finally settles him on his feet, hands moving to his hips and head tucking under his chin. Sam ignores the warmth of Dean’s breath on his neck, pushing his ass back as far as possible because Dean must not realise how close they are. Dean makes a displeased noise but doesn’t protest his retreat, easily moving on to asking what pie he bought him. 

Sam has to remind himself to breathe when Dean untucks himself from his chin and rises to his full height, hands still on his hips. “I missed you so, so, so much, Sammy! I’m so, so, so glad you’re here!” he sings cheerfully, and Sam downplays the relief that zips through him knowing that Dean is safe, here in front of him, anxiety draining away as Dean continues to repeat how much he missed him. It makes him feel warm, ears burning from either the proximity or the joy at being needed by this man, who bites his lip in anticipation as he eyes the bag in Sam’s hand, as if he can already taste the contents. “‘S that my pie, Sam?” he asks deviously, licking his lips. 

Holding the bag in front of him, Sam gently puts a bit of space between them so he can jiggle it open, spreading it to show Dean what’s inside, his eyes lighting up when he takes note of three different kinds of pie. He gasps, holding his breath and stamping his feet on the floor, hands gripping Sam’s hips tighter before he turns his head to the side, seeks out Katie and practically screams, “Sammy got me all my favorites! There’s Pecan pie, Cherry pie and Coconut cream! Mmm. Can you believe that, Kat-litter?!” 

Katie looks torn between cringing and cooing, making a face at Sam like he’s definitely sealed his own fate, painted nail digging into the sign-in sheet for the day that he really needs to get to work signing. 

“Hey, Dean,” Sam calls, and Dean snaps his head to him instantly, humming with a huge grin on his face, hands pulling him a few centimetres closer. Sam doesn’t make contact with his own hands, keeping them clutched on the bag and propping his feet out so the toes match Dean’s, preventing him from pulling him any further forward, despite his efforts to bring them flush together. He’s not crossing that line. “How about you take these and go sit over _there_?” 

Dean’s face falls, bottom lip curling between his teeth. “Are you gonna sit with me?” The slight wobble in his voice cuts Sam to his core. 

“I need to sign in real quick first, Dean, okay?” 

Dean’s shaking his head before he even replies, “‘s okay. I can wait for you to sign in,” he says, deciding for them as he starts steering Sam towards Katie, hand slipping into his with more ease than he’s willing to analyse right now. He stops pulling when Sam follows, bringing his hand up to his chest and tugging on his thumb with his free hand, eyes playfully curious. 

“Dean, I need my right hand to sign in, buddy,” Sam says softly, a fond smile on his face as Dean makes a disgruntled noise for having to let go, immediately darting to his left side and taking that one in hand instead, holding his wrist with one hand and scraping his fingers across his open palm with the other. “How long has he been waiting?” Sam whispers when Dean’s distracted enough that he’s not listening to them. 

Katie regards Dean for a moment, drawing the same conclusion before holding up three fingers. Sam mouths ‘ _ minutes’  _ and she mouths back ‘ _ hours’ _ . His eyebrows shoot straight to his hairline before he adds the date next to his signature, placing the pen on top of the sheet of paper. 

When he’s done with sign in, Dean revels in having his attention back on him, detailing in length what he’s done so far, thanking Sam again and again when he lets him have one pie of his choosing now, the others he can have over the next couple of days since they won’t spoil. Dean takes a ridiculously long time scratching his head over which one he wants to have first, all while holding Sam’s hand on his thigh, feet drumming against the floor as he struggles with his decision. 

“‘S just impossible, Sammy! They’re all so good. Can’t I have ‘em all?” Dean whines, jutting his bottom lip out. “I don’ wanna choose.” 

“Dean… You can’t have them all. You’ll get sick,” Sam warns with a shake of his head. Dean juts his lip out further. “Not today, buddy. Come on. Pick one, and then when you’ve finished all three, I’ll get you some more. Sound fair?” 

Dean looks like he’s about to protest again, eyebrows drawing together, mouth opening and closing, hand squeezing his. Then, as if realizing that if he plays balls he’ll get  _ even more  _ pie, he plays  _ eeny, meeny, miny, mo,  _ face reflecting resignation as he selects destiny’s chosen pie for the day, a pleased grin stretching his lips, faltering moments later when he struggles to open the container with one hand, getting increasingly more frustrated as the seconds tick on. 

“Need me to open it for you?” Sam offers, carefully moving to unlink their hands, but Dean’s having none of that, tugging it back the moment he moves it. “It’ll be easier with two hands, Dean.”

“No, I c’n do it. ‘S fine. You’ll see,” Dean states firmly, bringing his knees together to balance the container on his lap, fingers stroking at the sides in an effort to pop it open. He huffs out an aggravated sigh, face tinting red with annoyance, when his eyes must catch something, because suddenly another member of staff is coming over, eyes sweeping to their linked hands in disapproval before putting on a plastic smile. “Can you open this for me, please?” Dean asks politely, beaming at the man, who wordlessly nods their head, opens the container, cuts Sam a look that makes him grit his teeth, and then leaves them to their own devices. 

While Dean gets to work devouring his pie, apologising every time he speaks with his mouth full, while his mouth is already full, Sam keeps one eye trained on all the eyes watching them. He knew it was going to be there, the doubt, the mistrust, the judgement, but he doesn’t care. This poor, sweet man has been denied the basics of human comfort when his brother isn’t around, and Sam’s not going to be just another one of these heartless bastards that think it’s okay to push someone away when all they want is to be acknowledged, to be treated like they’re more than what their file says. 

If anything, the looks they’re giving him is the final brick in the wall. Come what may, the challenges, the fear, the good and bad, Sam’s going to make sure that Dean doesn’t feel alone in this world anymore. He’s going to be there for him, raise him up when he’s down, remind him that he  _ matters,  _ prove to him that he’s not alone. Not anymore. Not while Sam can help it. Screw what they all think. As far as Sam’s concerned, as long as he doesn’t cross that line, there’s nothing wrong with this.

It’s just something these judgemental dicks are gonna have to get used to. 

“So what do you wanna do, Dean?” 

Dean’s responding bright grin almost makes him forget where he is. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. 
> 
> Comments are greatly appreciated. 
> 
> This one especially "I'm absolutely LOVING this story so far. LOL I check for updates at least once an hour! Great job!" really made me feel good about myself, and I appreciate your support. :D 
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> I know this is weird, but don't leave kudos unless you actually enjoy my content, since I use them as a determiner as to how well my story is doing, generally speaking.


	5. I'll Teach You

Sam staggers as Dean pulls him away from yet another patient. He feigns complete and utter innocence as he continues to list his favourite Superhero movies in order, not missing a single beat moving on to place number ten, squeezing Sam’s hand in excitement before announcing that it’s one of the earlier Batman films. Sam can’t help but think it’s sweet that he enjoys the classics, flicking his eyes to the young lady he was unceremoniously ripped away from, wondering if now might be a good time to remind Dean that he has a responsibility to all of the patients and not just him, which he, for some reason, doesn’t see going over too well. 

Dean’s been doing much the same since they went to group together and one of the other patients tried to sit next to Sam. Dean had glared at them in warning, pushed Sam’s chair as far away from the group as possible, dragged his over to him while still glaring daggers at the patient, and then tuned them out for the rest of the session, his eyes so focused on Sam’s that he didn’t even notice when the leader of the session told them it was time to go. 

Honestly, he’s a little embarrassed to admit that he had been so taken aback by Dean’s actions that he hadn’t even reprimanded him for his rudeness, when he understood that it should have been his first response. Sam quickly figured out that Dean is going to be a bit of a handful when it comes to dividing his time between him and others, but he’d been naive enough to believe that his impeccable manners--other than his eating habits--would have been enough of a deterrent that he wouldn’t have to tell him off. 

Unfortunately, that’s not the case. Dean’s going to grow bolder with his possessiveness if Sam doesn’t find a way to put across to him that it’s not nice, what he’s doing. But how do you make your case to someone who, by all intents and purposes, has already decided that you’re basically their property?

Sam understands this. He does. It’s something he learnt about during his studies, how some patients can become extremely attached, to the point of thinking of you as their own, and they will become hostile or belligerent to anyone that threatens their  _ claim,  _ essentially. 

It’s a bit of a sticky situation, Sam will freely admit. He doesn’t want Dean to think that he’s cross with him. It’s not his fault, not really. He doesn’t understand that Sam doesn’t, in fact, belong to him, so he most likely feels as though his actions are justified. Dean’s seeing Sam, a friend of his, and thinking that Sam is comparable to Benny, a visitor that no other patient has the right to take his time away from. 

Bizarre, sure. He’s known Dean all of two days. Not even two full days, actually. But Dean is adamant that no one else should get to spend time with Sam. He purposefully stands in front of staff members when they approach Sam to give him the heads up on something, acting as a wall between them, while eyeing them with untapped suspicion. Sam has to keep discreetly batting Dean’s hand away in those moments when he tries to slip it into Sam’s back-pocket, which is not a point of contact that he can allow. 

He could certainly do without the odd looks from the other members of staff with regards to it, eyeing Dean like he’s a ticking time bomb and shooting Sam disapproving looks, but that’s far too much to expect, he supposes. 

“Are you mad at me?” Dean asks softly, and Sam stills when he realises that he’s a couple of paces behind him, staring at the ground and shuffling his feet. 

“I’m not mad at you, Dean. But I do think we need to talk about something.” 

Dean squeezes his hand, licking his lips nervously. “Okay, Sammy.”

Sam turns around to face him, confused by the image in his head of Dean twirling him on the dance floor that came out of nowhere. He dismisses it with an invisible sweeping motion and squeezes the hand back, having already figured out that Dean gets more anxious if he doesn't.

“I  _ promise  _ I’m not mad at you, okay?” 

Dean nods, smiling weakly, making Sam feel like a total asshole. “Okay.”

The desire to wrap Dean up in a comforting embrace is so strong that Sam’s legs ache from the pressure it takes to keep them from closing the distance. 

“I have a responsibility to everyone here. You know that, don’t you?” Dean nods. “That means that I can’t  _ just  _ spend all of my time with you. It’s not fair to the others, otherwise.” Dean purses his lips, blows out a breath, shakes his head, blinks a couple of times, shakes his head again, shakes it harder, stamps his foot and presses a hand on Sam’s chest. 

“I don’t wan’ you to leave me… for them,” he admits, stepping forward and tucking his head under Sam’s chin. “I wan’ you to stay with me an’ talk about movies an’ superheroes an’ cowboys…” 

Sam’s hands itch to come around Dean’s back and soothe him. “We can do all those things, but I need to talk to the others as well, especially if they need help. Surely a big brave hero like you understands how important it is to help those that cannot help themselves,” he says teasingly, choking on his next breath as Dean locks his arms around him and squeezes. 

“But then you’re not payin’ attention t’ me,” Dean whines, shaking his head under Sam’s chin. “You’re my friend, not theirs,” he adds petulantly, huffing and lowering his hands to Sam’s hips to pull them flush together. Sam widens his stance to stop him, again. 

“Dean… Of course I’m your friend. That’s why we talk about movies and superheroes. But these people need me to be there for them, and a good friend knows when to take a step back and wait for their friend to finish seeing to others,” Sam explains, ignoring how good Dean smells as he continuously shakes his head before eventually coming to a stop, apparently having picked up on something that he can agree with. 

He lifts his head up then, stares at Sam’s lips for an uncomfortably long time, frowns when Sam backtracks and then replies, “So I can still wait with you while you talk to ‘em?” he questions, brows furrowed adorably as he takes one of Sam’s hands in his again, the other stationery on his hip. 

It’s as good of a compromise that Sam’s going to get out of him, and as long as Dean stays by his side and allows him to do his job, he can’t see a problem with it. The other staff members probably would, casting subtle glares in their direction while pasting plastic smiles on their faces. That’s something that Sam is certainly going to have to build up a resistance to, fast.

Where’s the harm, though? Dean will be stood there, holding his hand, maybe playing with the material of his shirt while Sam tends to other patients. It may even be a way for Sam to help Dean make some friends, with him being there enough to warm up to others. That’s something that Sam really wants for Dean. He wants him to have friends that he can talk to when he gets lonely, which seems to be far more often than Sam would like to believe. 

This could be good for him. Yeah, it could even help lighten the reigns that he has on Sam if he finds someone that he can really get along with, spending his days chatting away to them about movies and superheroes, giving them those megawatt smiles that never fail to make Sam’s stomach swoop. 

Ignoring the cold, empty feeling that comes with the thought of losing Dean’s undivided attention, Sam squeezes Dean’s hand, feeling as though he’s the one that needs the reassurance this time. Dean squeezes back immediately, smiling bright and airy, thumb circling his hip. So long as Dean doesn’t go under his shirt, there’s no reason for him to reject those actions. Besides, Sam would be lying if he said that it isn’t comforting.

“Sure. But you have to be quiet and let me do the talking, okay?” Dean pretends to think really hard on that, failing spectacularly in his ruse because he can’t keep the smile off his face. “So? Does that work for you, Batman?” 

Dean lowers his voice and puts on a serious expression. “ _ It’s not who I am underneath, but what I do that defines me,”  _ he says, and it’s so close to the original that Sam forgets for a moment that he’s in the presence of a literal man child. “You like my quotes, right?” Dean beams proudly, bouncing on the balls of his feet with anticipation of Sam’s answer. 

Sam takes a second to compose himself, getting his breath back under control. “I sure do. They’re amazing,  _ just… like… you, _ ” he replies fondly. “But as amazing as they are, and I mean that--I do, I’m still waiting for an answer, mister.” 

“Sure, okay. I’ll be quiet. I’ll be so quiet that it’ll be like… like… ‘m invisible! Like Cas says he can do,” Dean declares, puffing up his chest. He eyes the hem of Sam’s shirt, and Sam has a horrifying realisation that he might be about to attempt to hide his head beneath it, so he discreetly secures a hand around the back, pulling it tight against his skin. Dean looks puzzled by the sudden stretch of fabric layering over each other, cocking his head to the side in curiosity as he moves his fingers towards it. 

Stepping back before he can make contact, Sam nonchalantly moves to the side of him and jerks his hand in way of saying they should move on, and Dean, thankfully, matches his pace without question, still cutting his eyes to the stretch of Sam’s fabric until he lets it drop and hang loose again--crisis averted. 

While they walk, Sam listens and Dean talks more about the things that _Cas_ can apparently do, gesticulating wildly with his free hand as he explains that Cas is taller than the Empire State Building, jumping up and touching the ceiling to emphasise his point. He takes on a more serious tone when he says that he’s never seen Cas’s true form, that he normally comes to him wearing his really long trench coat and looking like he’s waiting for the train to show up. Dean laughs as he theorises that Cas is probably Inspector Gadget's cousin, blocking off the left side of his face to whisper conspiratorially. Sam hides his amusement, acting shocked and awed, like Dean’s really onto something. 

It’s far too easy for Sam to get lost in just hanging on Dean’s every word, the rest of the world disappearing around them with each new subject Dean lands on, ending his last point with a wave of his hand and another excited grin, shaking their linked hands. There are barely any pauses between words, apart from the times where his nose crinkles, finger coming up to press against his lip as he darts his eyes around the ceiling, eyes squeezing shut before he nods his head and does a little bounce before continuing where he left off. 

They’re outside now for what Dean calls his  _ Sunny Time.  _ Sam had to ask what he calls it when the sun isn’t shining, and wasn’t disappointed when he said  _ Coldy Time  _ and  _ Rainy Time,  _ respectfully, looking a little miffed when he revealed that he’s not allowed to splash in the puddles. Sam made a face like it was a sin against nature, and Dean dragged him to the basketball court after nagging June, who’s responsible for the sports shed today. Sam likes her. She doesn’t look at Dean like he’s a problem that she  _ has  _ to deal with, smiling fondly at him as she unlocked the shed and asked him what he wanted to play. 

“Me and Sammy are gonna play basketball together!” Dean had announced merrily, practically vibrating next to him as he tucked the ball by his side. 

As Sam stands  _ guard  _ by the basketball hoop, he feels a little guilty that he thought Dean would be really bad at the game, pleasantly surprised when he dribbles  _ rather well,  _ pivoting and laughing as he ducks past Sam’s side and tosses the ball. His face falls when he misses his shot, so Sam tells him that if he catches it and scores from the rebound it’s double points. 

They both watch as the ball bounces off the rim, and Dean shares a quick look between it and Sam’s hand, seeming to make a choice as he grabs Sam’s hand, squeezes it and then stumbles to catch the ball. He shoots and scores a basket, pumping his fists and asking anyone that will listen to his overly loud yelling if they had, in fact, seen that, while reaching blindly for Sam’s hand again, which he can’t help but hold securely as Dean jumps up and down declaring how awesome he is, that no challenger will ever come close to his level of awesomeness. 

Sam bites the inside of his cheek so that he doesn’t laugh out loud at the spectacle. “Y’know, Dean,... Awesome people like yourself also know how to be modest about it,” he teases, and Dean curls a hand around Sam’s hip as he contemplates that, forehead creasing and lips pursed. 

“So it can be ‘nother secret between us?” he asks, a hopeful look on his handsome face. 

Sam nods before he can think it over, offering a smile of his own, and Dean mimics zipping his lips like the first time, staring expectantly at Sam until he does the same. 

After that, they get back to their game, Dean holding Sam’s hand or keeping up physical contact with him as much as possible. Sam thinks he could be pressing his chest against his back on purpose to take the ball from him, looking away with an  _ I’m-so-innocent _ grin on his face when Sam whirls around to pin him with a chastising stare. Dean uses the momentary distraction to cut around him and secure the ball, bouncing it up and down in challenge. It’s a lot harder to forget that Dean is a man with the brain functionality of a child when he’s looking at him so cocksure, making to dart around him-- _ faking  _ him out. 

“You’re good at this, ey, Dean?” 

Dean pops his lips and bounces the ball through Sam’s legs, scoring a slamdunk fast enough to make Sam’s head spin. “Benny taught me! He’s better than me. Lots better. It’s okay, though, Sammy. I’ll teach you!”

“Sure, okay. What’s my first lesson then, Coach?” Sam questions, subtly sweeping his eyes over the area to see if anyone needs his assistance. “You gonna teach me to dribble like Michael Jordan?” 

In front of him, Dean’s face sets to one of  _ assumed  _ authority, shoulders squaring and standing tall. For a mere moment, he looks extremely adult, chin up, arm curled around the ball. It disappears almost instantly when he stares longingly at Sam’s hand for three heartbeats and crumbles, dashing and lacing their fingers. 

Sam pushes the ball from his slackened hold, pitching forward to start dribbling it towards the hoop. Dean lets out a playful noise from behind him, and Sam hears shoes pounding the floor along with excited laughter. He spins around to face his  _ opponent,  _ purposefully making sloppy work of the ball, expecting Dean to take advantage of the blatant invitation to steal it. 

But what he does instead is narrow his eyes in challenge and then Sam’s back hits the floor, the wind knocked out of him as Dean settles on his thighs, having crawled up his body. He crosses his arms over his chest, grinning down at Sam as he proclaims his victory, clearly not aware of the five other staff members bounding towards them at an alarming speed. 

Dean’s too focused on grinning like a fool, like he just won the lottery. Sam’s heart hammers behind his chest, trying to settle. He needs to get Dean off of him before they assume he’s being aggressive. 

“Dean, buddy,” Sam starts, words dying in his throat as Dean bends and rests his head on his chest where his heart is beating rapidly. Dean mimics the rhythm like he does, acknowledging that it’s much faster than usual, and Sam ignores Dean’s request for Sam to place his hand against his and tell him if it’s the same. “Dean, you need to get up.”

“But ‘m comfortable,” Dean mutters and yawns, blinking his eyes tiredly. Maybe he needs a nap? 

Sam makes hand gestures at the staff members converging on the scene, pleading with them wordlessly that he's got it and to give them some space. He has this feeling that if they get too close right now, he’ll just cling harder. 

*

_ Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump,  _ Sammy’s heart goes. Nu-uh. More like…  _ Badumpbadumpbadumpbadump.  _ So fast! So cool. Dean likes it. He thinks his heart is doing that, too. Can hear it. In his ears. It’s loud, but not as loud as Sam’s breathing. His chest rises and falls, rises and falls. It lifts Dean’s head up and down and he smiles. 

It’s so comfy. Sammy is so comfy. Dean could sleep. He yawns and yawns. Definitely should sleep. Right here, though. Not in bed, where Sam’s not there with him. No, he should sleep right here, with Sam as a pillow. Sammy won’t mind. He’s his friend and he likes Dean and he doesn’t tell him he’s too much or inappropriate. He smiles at Dean and squeezes his hand and makes him feel good. 

“Dean, if you’re tired, I can take you to your room.” 

“No. ‘m good here,” Dean says and rubs his face on Sam’s chest. Comfy and warm. He doesn’t ever wanna get up. Benny lets him do this. And Sam is like Benny. So Sam will understand. Sometimes Dean gets tired and needs a nap. Otherwise he gets grouchy, Benny says. He tells him that he becomes a little big monster when he doesn't get enough sleep. Says he knows when he doesn’t sleep much. 

“Buddy, come on… My back hurts,” Sammy says. Sounds hurt. Dean shoots up immediately. “Yeah, I hurt my back last night and the ground’s not so good for me right now.” 

_ Nod, nod, nod _ . He gets up, holds out his hand. Sam takes it, thanks him as he helps him up. Dean yawns again, bumps his head on Sam’s chest, tells him he’s sorry he hurt him. Sad. He hurt Sam. No… He hurt Sammy… Sam’s back is hurting and he made it worse! He’s a bad friend for doing that! 

Benny told him about this, that sometimes his back hurts and he needs to recover first. But Dean was comfy. He was enjoying it. Dean apologies again and again, holds Sam’s shirt tight. 

“It’s okay, Dean. I’ll be fine, but let’s get you to your room so you can rest before dinner, all right?” 

Dean doesn’t wanna go to bed now. He can stay awake. He can stay awake forever for Sammy. Doesn’t wanna miss anything. Not when he knows Sam’s gonna go later. Leave Dean. But he’ll be back. He’ll be back tomorrow. Same time. Starts at the same time, Kat-litter told him. 

“No, no, no.”  _ Shake, shake, shake. _ “‘m fine. See? I’m okay. I can stay up. We can talk more. ’m sorry, Sammy!” 

Sam doesn’t move. Doesn’t push him away.  _ Breathe, breathe, breathe.  _ It’s okay. Sammy’s here. With Dean. He’s gonna stay here. With Dean.  _ Breathe, breathe, breathe.  _ Yeah, he’ll stay. He won’t walk away. He’s Dean’s friend, Sam told him. 

“All right, Dean. If you’re sure you don’t need a nap.” 

_ Nod, nod, nod.  _ Dean’s tired but not telling Sammy that. Because if he does, he’ll have to go to bed. And he doesn’t want that. Not if Sam’s not going with him. And he can’t. Because that’s his secret lair and only Benny and Cas are ‘sposed to be able see it. But Dean wants Sammy to see it so badly. Wants him to sleep in his bed with him and cuddle him like Benny does. 

Benny says Dean’s a good cuddler. That he sleeps really well when Dean  _ spoons  _ him, he calls it. Says that Dean’s his big spoon and he’s Dean’s little spoon. Says not to tell Andrea. Says he doesn’t let her be big spoon. 

Dean likes being a  _ big spoon.  _ Benny gets tense so Dean  _ stroke, stroke, strokes  _ his back ‘til he relaxes and sleeps. Sleeps in Dean’s arms. And he’s warm and snores a little. Dean sleeps, too, wakes up when Benny pats his thigh. Tells him he’s poking him. Dean doesn’t really get it but he moves anyway. Benny says they can’t cuddle anymore until it goes down. Dean traps it between his stomach. It dies down and they cuddle again. 

Maybe Sammy could be his little spoon, too? Sam’s tall. Super tall. He’d be the biggest little spoon in the world! Dean would  _ stroke, stroke, stroke  _ his back ‘til he relaxed. Then they would sleep. Sleep in Dean’s bed. 

Benny says he can’t be big spoon. Better for him to be little spoon, he told him. Says it’s more appropriate. Dean doesn’t get it but he doesn't mind. Maybe Sam can be  _ his  _ big spoon? 

*

While Dean was seemingly lost in thought, Sam guided him back inside, nodding his assurances to the other staff members that had come to lend a hand. He feels bad that he had to lie to Dean about his back, but it was better than physically pushing him off or allowing the others to drag him off. Sam wouldn’t have been comfortable with either of those options, so a white lie had been the only choice that yielded the best result.

Sam had to reinforce to Dean that he’s not upset with him, that his back doesn’t hurt that badly, eventually having to agree to let Dean give him a seated massage just to get him to stop apologising. That’s where they are now, with Dean kneading his back with the skill of a professional masseuse, applying just enough pressure to have Sam swallowing down pleasant groans, fists white-knuckling the material over his thighs.

“Don’t worry, Sammy. You gonna feel good as new when I’m done! That’s what Benny says. Says he feels light as air,” Dean promises, circling his thumbs over each ridge in Sam’s spine. Embarrassingly, Sam lets out a half-moan before slamming his mouth shut, staring around the room to make sure no one else heard that. Dean stills behind him for a moment, thumbs halting their blissful torture. “Are you okay, Sammy? ‘m not... Oh, no! I’m not hurtin’ you, am I?” 

“No, Dean. You’re fine. It’s fine. I just didn’t realise how tense I was, okay?” Sam replies evenly, not wanting Dean to think that he had made his fake back pain any worse. 

And just like that, his hands go back to kneading Sam’s back, curling into fists and pressing down hard enough for Sam to  _ hear  _ the release of tension. Dean could do this for a living. He’s not even kidding. He can’t believe that he taught himself to do this so that he could make Benny feel good when he was stressed out. It’s hard to imagine that someone so caring could ever end up here… But then Sam hasn’t really seen the side of Dean that landed him in this place, after all. 

He hopes he doesn’t have to, honestly. 

Is this appropriate? Probably not. But it’s his back. He’s sat, fully-clothed in a chair. There’s nothing untoward happening, so he figures that it could be worse. Now, he would prefer it if he didn’t keep making little approving sounds that sound suspiciously like the ones that he would make in the bedroom...  _ That’s  _ not appropriate. Luckily, Dean doesn’t seem to notice at all after the first time, having returned to listing his favourite superhero movies and humming between the countdown. 

By the time Dean finishes kneading away years of tension brought on by terrible dates, long-ass nights studying, exam pressure, that one time he got lost on his way to Denver, and everything in between, Sam feels like a whole new person. Dean looks very pleased with himself, saying that Benny calls his hands magical because of what they can do, and Sam’s not disagreeing. 

It’s as if Dean hit the refresh button on his spine, draining away the grief of his last relationship, the fear that he’s not good enough at his job or a good enough person, the insecurity he feels when he’s under the watchful gaze of his Father, who he always wonders if he can impress one day… It’s incredible, each step that follows feeling like the sun shining on his face as Dean swings their arms and prattles on about his favourite Superheroes next, even though Sam has a good idea as to who the top spot belongs to.

The euphoria stays with him through the rest of his shift, smiling back at Dean as he pushes the medicine cart proudly, pretending to take notes on Sam’s hand. They both ignore Ruby’s barely concealed scowl of disapproval, Sam swallowing a laugh when Dean makes faces behind her back, cutting his eyes to Sam to see if he saw what he did. He squeezes Sam’s hand when he nods his head fondly. 

Again, Dean refuses to take his pills unless it’s both Sam that hands it to him and holds his hand while he does it. Ruby rolls her eyes in exaggerated annoyance, her tone icy as she tells them to speed it up. Sam really wants to chew her out for her attitude, but it’s not the right approach, and he’s not sure it would go over too well when he’s the one that seems to have acquired a conjoined twin that looks nothing like him. 

The time of day comes when he has to say goodbye to Dean for the night all too quickly, in Sam’s opinion. Dean’s, too, if the way he’s clutching the back of Sam’s shirt and shaking his head furiously is any indication. Sam’s not sure that he’s ever going to get used to hearing the broken pleas coming from Dean’s mouth, begging him to stay a little longer if he can’t stay the night with him, that if they’re quiet, no one will know that he’s not in bed, that they can go back to the basketball court and Dean will teach him how to dribble like Michael Jordan. 

It breaks Sam’s heart, constantly repeating that he’ll be back tomorrow, that he’ll see him then, thinking of any other food he could possibly bribe him with. Or movies, maybe, since he likes those so much. He suggests bringing him some from his collection, but Dean says that he doesn’t want any of those things right now. He says that he only wants Sam to stay with him. 

Sam can feel his resolve crumbling. 

“Dean… Come on, buddy. I’ve got to get home and have something to eat so I can come back well-fed and refreshed tomorrow. Plus, I need to shower.” 

Dean squeezes his arms around him, shakes his head against the nape of his neck and repeats no over and over again. Sam feels like he’s going to throw up from the desperation in that one word. It’s terrifying how much power this man has over him. 

“You can shower here. I’ll show you where it is. I’ll shower with you!”

“ _ No, _ ” Sam declines quickly, freezing at the wetness seeping into his neck. Jesus. Dean’s  _ crying.  _ “Dean, hey, come on, don’t cry. It’s gonna be okay,” he adds, turning carefully and losing the appetite he had immediately; the tension from earlier stabbing at his back like a thousand, accusing needles. 

“I don’ wan’ you t’ go.” Dean buries his face in Sam’s shirt and clings onto him. “Please stay with me! Please--I’ll be so good. I promise. Just don’ leave me!” He shakes against him, shoulders heaving and voice breaking on wet sobs. 

Sam keeps his own tears at bay, fingers itching to pull Dean close and protect him from everything that would dare to harm him, which happens to be him right now. He’s hurting Dean because he needs to leave, and Dean’s so distraught he won’t stop crying against his chest. Sam doesn’t even care about the snot, spit and tears. He needs to make this better, but he’s lost for what to do… 

That’s when four other staff members come out of nowhere and pry Dean off of him, which must have been a huge mistake. Dean goes from crying to screaming, kicking out and flailing, slamming his fist into one of the younger staff, Kevin. The guy doubles back and clutches his nose and Dean twists and twists, groaning deep and long while they try to pin him to the floor. 

Sam knows that he should probably help, that he should get involved, but he’s completely paralysed at this moment. 

“Sammy! Sam! Help, please! Don’ leave me,” Dean wails, twisting again and kicking a man,  _ hard,  _ in the stomach. Sam’s impressed that the guy manages to take it without letting go, snapping something quickly to the person holding Dean’s left arm to get the needle ready. “Get off’a me,” he shouts louder, and he sounds more like a seriously pissed off man then, planting his feet firmly on the floor and dragging them along with him. “Please, Sam...  _ Please  _ don’ leave.”

“Hold him down. Hurry up,” one of the Orderly’s says, sounding alarmed as he struggles to stop Dean from physically walking them towards Sam. “Dean. Hey, Dean, come on. Work with us here. You can see Sam tomorrow, all right?” His words go completely ignored, Dean gritting his teeth and snapping at them to get off of him again, repeating it, growing more and more agitated the longer they hold onto him. 

Sam snaps out of it then, shaking his head to clear the fog that cast over. He needs to do something to help so he walks up to Dean and crouches to his eye-level when the Orderlies use the moment of distraction to push Dean to his knees. 

Dean starts struggling again, begging for Sam’s help, and Sam tells them to release his arms, to trust him. They do it with sceptical looks on their faces. Sam spares them one look at the needle, pointedly indicates Dean with his head and then breathes in when Dean wraps his arms around his neck and goes back to begging him to stay. 

“It’s okay, Dean. You’re my brave hero, you know that, right? And you’re gonna see me tomorrow, okay? I promise you’re gonna see me tomorrow, but I’m afraid this is where we say good night. Okay, buddy?” 

“No, no, no, no, no! I don’ wanna say g’night. I wan’ you t’ stay--I wa--” Dean suddenly deflates against him and Sam tries not to protest when they pull him away. 

“Make sure he gets to bed safe,” Sam almost warns. “Thanks… for your help. Good night,” he says, turning around to discreetly wipe his wet eyes with the back of his hand before exiting to the reception room, not wanting to see Dean’s slack face as they carry him away to his room. 

Katie must notice that he’s distressed when she calls out to him. Or maybe she’s reminding him that he needs to sign out before he leaves. Sam’s not sure, but he steers towards her booth, robotically reaching for the pen and bending to sign his name. 

“Sam, are you okay? I heard Dean screaming the place down. Is he all right?” 

Sam doesn’t know how to answer that right now. “He… He really didn’t want me to leave, I guess.” Katie looks at him like she understands. “Is this what he’s like with Benny when he goes home?” 

For a brief moment, it looks like Katie has no idea who he’s talking about. Then, she nods, more to herself than anything else. “Benny learned pretty quick to leave when Dean’s asleep. So  _ we _ have to listen to Dean scream for the first hour or so after he wakes up and Benny is gone. He’s nowhere near as bad as he used to be, though.  _ This  _ is the first time in a while where I’ve heard him go off like that,” she explains, taking the sheet back from Sam. “I know you like Dean… And he clearly likes you a lot, but it might be better for him if you put some space between you, Sam.” 

He knows that she’s not trying to piss him off with her words, but he finds himself forcing a smile, nodding like he gets it and turning on his heel to leave the building, swallowing bitter anger as he loads into his car and heads home for the night. 


	6. I'm Screwed

As an angel, emotions are somewhat few and far between. Angels are programmed to love all of God’s creatures unconditionally. To them, love is separate from hate, sadness, humour, etc. Castiel loves every human he comes across, even the ones that have decided to go against God’s wishes and butcher their neighbour, bury them in their back garden and tell the uniformed officers that they had never heard of such a person as the one six-foot under their nursery of flowers. It’s par for the course. He’s not allowed to judge, just as he’s not allowed to intervene and save the person being torn apart by the sharp end of a blade. 

He often wonders why that is, why he can’t preserve another life. Is it an issue of population? Were they not meant to live to see old age, to frail and wither, waiting for the calm acceptance of death to carry them over to the other side? Castiel’s not sure. He can’t go against God’s will, can’t catch the man diving off the twelve-story building, regret heavy in the air as he plummets towards his death. Castiel could save him. It would be so easy, but he’s not permitted to do that. 

All he can do is watch, advise somewhat. Truthfully, he’s not supposed to talk to his charge, reveal himself. Dean’s the first child he’s shown his face to, compelled by the endless tears that streamed down his face, loneliness crushing him under its weight. He had needed a friend, and Castiel had wanted to be that friend, to be there for him… Just to prove to him that he wasn’t alone, that he had someone looking out for him. 

Castiel thinks about it, a fond smile on his face as he stares at the sleeping form of Sam Wesson, who appears to be having a restless sleep, body tense and sweating profusely into the sheets. 

He remembers standing there, observing. Dean’s shoulders had been shaking, body curled in on himself, breathing ragged and choked off as he sobbed into his pillow, the name of Benny a whisper from his lips as he writhed around, wishing he had been there with him. Castiel had felt something in his chest, a deep-seated throb that he had no name for. The sensation felt like a burn. A small, meagre one, yes, but enough for Castiel to pay attention to it. Enough for him to question its existence. 

For a long while, he debated the pros and cons of letting himself be seen, be heard. Dean could have freaked out when Castiel allowed his form to be perceived, arms awkwardly dangling by his sides, a raspiness to his voice as he announced his presence. It had been the first time he heard his voice in human form, deep, cutting, edgy. He hadn’t minded it, repeating himself when Dean hadn’t registered his first call out to him. 

Dean had turned over onto his back, body tight from the new voice in the room, a startled set to his eyes as he cast them over Castiel, searching for recognition. When he found none, instead of freaking out, he had asked him why he was wearing a trenchcoat when it was so hot outside. Castiel had told him that it came with his vessel, that he hadn’t wanted to part with it since it clearly meant something to the previous owner, to which Dean looked puzzled, ‘brows furrowed as he contemplated the implications of Castiel’s worlds. 

He had come up short, blew out a breath and told Castiel he was funny. It was that moment, when Dean grinned a wide grin, eyes crinkling at the corners as he laughed and laughed, mirth adding a twinkle to the shamrock green of his eyes that Castiel decided he would be Dean’s friend. He decided that he would be there for him when he felt like he had no one else, that he would watch over him until he met someone who could take up that mantle, protect his innocence and light. 

Dean had asked him many, many questions their first night together. Castiel hadn’t minded. He hadn’t understood why Dean needed to know what his favourite colour was, for he didn’t have one. Nor a favourite animal, creature, bug, plant, Marvel comic book. Castiel didn’t have a favourite anything… 

Until a week after getting to know Dean, spending hours talking with him, feeling lighter each time he smiled and heavier when he didn’t. Castiel didn’t know how to cheer people up, essentially. Talking to people has never been a particular skill of his, having been told by other Angels that he spoke far too atonally, that he didn’t know how to connect with them on a personal level, that he should try to match their colloquialisms; he didn’t know how to do that, though. No, it’s more factual to say that he didn’t want to do that. 

Dean has called him a robot in the past, often mistaking him for The Terminator. He once impersonated the fictional character, saying  _ I’ll be back,  _ and then requested that Castiel try it out. He had done. Dean had laughed hard enough that his stomach hurt and tears streamed down his face. Castiel had preened, repeating the words with a little smile on his face and Dean had laughed even harder, falling off of his bed and doubling over. It had been a good day.

Throughout their time together, however, Dean hasn’t told him that he should speak differently or move his hands when he talks or to smile more. He still asks him lots of questions, tells him about his day, his dreams. Castiel may be watching over Dean, but he often wonders which of them gets more out of their friendship. 

Much like the night before, Castiel had turned up in Dean’s room tonight, only to find him passed out. Castiel could tell instantly that he hadn’t naturally drifted into that slumber, tension lines on his face, lips parted, body twitching involuntarily as he dreamt of dark spaces and a face fading from view. Castiel hasn’t seen Dean that distressed before, and he has a feeling it has to do with the man experiencing very much the same restlessness. 

Sam Wesson is tossing, turning, thrashing about. His body squirms and curls in on itself, sheets curving every which way as he struggles to find solace. He’s dreaming of Dean trapped in a cage, arms reaching through the bars to grasp his hand, but Sam’s body shifts further back, feet pounding the floor as he chases after him. Dean’s screaming his name from the cage, begging for his help. Sam can’t get to him in time, his breathing ragged, hand clutching his chest and eyes brimmed with tears as he screams back, promising Dean that he’ll protect him. 

It’s rather haunting to watch, Dean’s voice crying out to Sam in the distance; Sam answering back, searching endlessly for the hand reaching out to him. Castiel understands what’s going on. Sam Wesson is conflicted. He’s asking himself in his subconscious if he should distance himself from Dean, cut the cords before there’s no turning back. Castiel doesn’t think he will cut those cords. This man is far too kind, far too selfless to back away, even if it is the healthier alternative. 

Although, Castiel wonders if it would be. Dean has known Sam Wesson all of two full days and he’s reacting more severely to his departures than that of Benny Laffitte’s, someone he grew up with; someone he loves dearly, down to his core. And yet, Castiel feels torn as to whether or not Dean would choose Benny over Sam if given the choice. Only time will tell with regards to that, Castiel reminds himself, watching Sam fall to his knees in his mind’s eye, hand over his mouth as tears run down his cheeks like a stream, Dean’s pleas for help no longer carrying over the distance, the cage completely out of focus. 

He remains unflinching as Sam Wesson startles awake, one hand sweeping his hair out of his face, now slick with sweat. His shoulders are heaving, chest tight and coiling as he gets his breathing under control, throws the covers off of himself and moves to the edge of the bed. He plants his feet on the ground, shoulder-width apart, head lowered, hands braced by his sides, the skin of his knuckles paling as he gets control of his breathing. 

Once he’s calmed himself, he digs his elbows into his knees and buries his face in his hands, head shaking, sniffles sounding through the splits. Castiel can sense his thoughts, knows that he’s thinking about his dream, a wave of nausea going through him as he remembers it, Dean’s hand reaching for his, too far for him to grab on.

Castiel blinks then, watches Sam grasp his own hand, squeeze tight and exhale a long breath. It’s quiet for a moment, Sam Wesson’s knees bouncing, shoulders tense as he works on relaxing himself. He stands eventually, turns and stares at his bed, decides to change the sheets since they’re drenched in sweat. 

As he peels back the covers, Castiel observes, intrigued as Sam starts muttering to himself. 

“I can’t push him away… I just can’t. Shit,” Sam says to himself, balls the sheets up, strides over to the hamper and deposits them inside. “Bobby said he’d understand, that he wouldn’t hold it against me, but I don’t know if that’s true.” Castiel nods his agreement, not convinced Dean would get over it either. “What is it about this guy?” Sam laughs softly, shakes his head. “He’s just so sweet, lost… I just wanna help him, protect him,” he adds, pausing, a dark undertone thickening the air. “Keep him safe.”

There’s that odd feeling again. That little flame urging Castiel to reveal himself, to offer his advice. He can’t, though. Revealing himself to Dean hadn’t gone over too well with his peers, after all. It would have been fine had he been about to take his last breath, but Dean’s not scheduled to die for many, many years yet. It would be unwise to tempt fate by making contact with another mortal. 

“The only problem is that he’s getting worse with his attachment to me,” Sam says, and Castiel couldn’t agree more. “I’m worried that he might resort to hurting himself when I’m not there… That’s not something I ever wanna see happen.” Castiel nods firmly, as if Sam Wesson is talking directly to him, wordlessly vowing that he’s not going to let something like that happen, not while he’s around. “God, I’m pathetic… I can’t even bring myself to tell him to stop holding my damn hand.” What Sam calls pathetic, Castiel would call perpetual kindness. Sam can see that it comforts Dean, so he allows him to do it. “Maybe I should quit? Ha. Yeah right.”

Castiel thinks that would be the worst idea, but he wouldn’t stop Sam from doing so if that’s what he chose to do. He’s positive that Sam’s not going to, however. Sam Wesson is the type of person who follows through to the bitter end. His friendship with Dean will be no different, even if Dean has been having… fantasies of being with Sam in other such ways, which Castiel will keep to himself. 

“No, I can’t do that to him. I can’t do that to Dean,” Sam reminds himself, his smile fond as he thinks about Dean’s face lighting up when he sees him, his little chant about pie and the face he made when Sam told him the other two boxes were going in the fridge. “No.  _ No.  _ If Dean pushes me away, I’ll go without complaint, but I am  _ not  _ pushing  _ him  _ away,” he says resolutely, bed now changed and primed for a good night’s rest. 

Castiel observes as Sam climbs back into bed after a quick rinse in the shower. Sam Wesson is no closer to achieving a peaceful sleep than he had been before, it seems. Before he can stop himself, Castiel stands over the man, presses his hand to his forehead and calms his mind and guides him into a deep, stress-free sleep. 

The one thing he can think of as he watches him for another few minutes is that he deserves it. 

*

It seems that every time Sam closes his eyes, he sees Dean’s distraught face smeared with snot and tears. He hears his voice, too. Those pleas… crying out to him, begging for him to save him, to take the pain away; it cuts him to his core each time they pierce through the ignorant fog brought on by that state of not quite being awake yet, his coffee waiting to be poured into his cup, bread toasted and ready, standing by for the upcoming spread of butter over its warm surface. 

The thought of eating drifts further back with the reminder, Sam’s stomach rolling in protest. He knows that he needs to eat something, even if it is still early in the morning and he has a fair few hours before his shift begins. 

He doesn't want to, though. Doesn’t want to take the risk, upset his stomach; make the problem worse than it already is. What if he gets sick and has to skip work? Not only would that look incredibly unprofessional for his first week, it would mean Dean would be left waiting for him. He might think he’s been abandoned, and Sam already swore to himself that he would do everything within his power to ensure that Dean never feels that way. At least, not with him.

Thinking about it is more likely to be the thing that causes the problem. Sam knows that. The mind is a truly remarkable, confusing thing that is often underestimated. If someone can convince themselves that they have a sore throat, as long as the body believes it to be true, it will manifest all of the key symptoms to convince just about anyone, even the local Doctor. 

Sam prepares his coffee, takes a place at the table, props his tablet up. He presses the first thing on his watch list while he goes about spreading jam on his buttered toast, wanting to keep his breakfast light for today to avoid complications. 

He started watching the series a long time ago. Life got busy, he had interviews to attend, things to finalise, people to see, etc, so he had no time to continue it. He figures now is as good a time as any, especially when he could do with the distraction, even if he is a little confused as to what’s going. Nevertheless, he’s not willing to go back and watch it from the beginning, so he’ll have to infer through context for now. 

Just as the focus is shifting to an unfortunate man half hanging out of an open casket, Charlie enters the kitchen with a long stretch. Sam gives her spine his silent sympathies, greeting her with a smile over his coffee mug. 

She smiles back, gestures to the pot. Sam indicates the steam wafting up to his face and she nods her head, fetching her own mug from the cupboard. 

Sam and Charlie have been living together for half a year now. They’ve gotten used to each other’s habits, they enjoy each other’s company, they have good conversations. Things slow quite smoothly between them, which is why Sam doesn’t regret helping her out in her time of need, offering the spare room in his apartment without really thinking about it. 

He’s known Charlie far longer. Seven years in total. But the idea of living with a friend, like a partner, feels Sam with trepidation. There have been plenty of marriages and relationships that have not survived the moving in together phase. That’s well documented, and Sam is not naive enough to assume that it would not extend to friendships, and he loves Charlie a whole lot. Fortunately, they haven’t threatened to kill each other yet, so he’s confident that they’ll go the distance. 

Charlie doesn’t get in his way, she cleans up after herself, she recommends books, series. The one he’s currently watching is included in that. She’s good to be around, funny, intuitive, resourceful. She’s the type of roommate that most anyone would be happy to have. They’d just have to watch out if they were of the female persuasion and her type, because Charlie has been known to seduce a couple of  _ straight  _ girls. 

Conversely, Sam offers her very much the same. It helps that they like each other, that they want to have film nights. Whether that be trash flicks that neither of them would choose in their right minds, or mystery and suspense films that they can sink their teeth into, come up with their own theories and then whoop in victory when they get it right, somewhat denoting the violent death happening on the screen in front of them. 

Sam’s point is that he likes Charlie. She likes him. She’s good people, and they have mutual respect for each other. 

“So how’s Mr Wonderful?” 

After yesterday morning's conversation, Charlie has taken to referring to Dean as such. She said  _ Mr Sunshine  _ sounds like a child-molesting clown, her nose wrinkling in disgust when it rolled off her tongue the first time. Sam’s not so sure that Mr Wonderful is much better, but they’re her words, so… 

“ _ Dean’s  _ fine. Just…”

Charlie places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes gently. “What is it, Sam?”

“Charlie, you should have seen him last night when I was leaving. It was… God, I felt awful,” Sam admits, tense. “He begged me to help him when they were holding him at bay, and I wanted to tackle them.” 

“Wow. That’s heavy. Too heavy for this earlier in the morning,” she teases, and Sam glares at her without animosity. “You didn’t, right?”

Sam looks at her, offended. “What?” 

Her smile is enough to relax the set of his incredulous lips. “I take it you decided not to distance yourself?” 

“No. I couldn’t. I thought about it. Here, in the shower, on the car ride over to work. It’s like I’m powerless when it comes to this man,” Sam says, smiling despite the implications. 

“I guess it’s like when you see a dog out in the rain. It’s scratching on your door, trying to find someplace dry and rest for the night. At first you think about whether or not it has diseases, you’re reluctant to let it in. But then you look at its adorable slash miserable face and suddenly you’re opening your door and feeding it the leftovers you were planning to make some Scooby-Doo style snack out of,” Charlie muses, looking proud of her analogy. “Dean’s like that to you, I think. And others, probably. Some people just have that natural quality that draws people to them.”

“But most people avoid Dean,” Sam tells her, folding his arms. “I’ve seen them walk in the opposite direction when he’s coming down the hall.” 

“Maybe it’s the temptation thing,” Charlie proposes, nodding to herself. “You said he’s attractive, right?” 

Sam takes in a breath, thinks about it. Thinks about how to phrase it without sounding like a huge pervert. 

“If he didn’t talk and act like a six or seven year old, he’d be a male model, if he wanted to be. Any company would be stupid not to want his face on a magazine or his body wearing their clothes,” Sam answers, mildly uncomfortable. “Or you could say he’s Adonis level.” 

Charlie raises both her eyebrows. “Really?  _ That _ good looking?”

He nods, swallows. “Yeah.” 

“So he’s like  _ your  _ level?” 

Sam feels a deep red creeping up his neck. He shakes his head and takes a sip of his coffee. “No. I’m not  _ that  _ good looking.” 

She rolls her eyes, disappointed. “Sam, you’re a very, very handsome man. If I wasn’t hardwired to lust after bodacious babes, I’d be into what you’re selling,” Charlie says with a wink. 

Sam shakes his head again. “Trust me. There  _ is  _ another level, and I’d really like to stop talking about him like this.”

Holding her hands up, Charlie clarifies, “All I’m saying is that they could be avoiding him because they have a weaker will than you do, Sam. Maybe they don’t think they could handle being in his company for too long without doing something,” she adds, shrugging. “That’s not something you can hold against them since you said yourself that it’s not difficult to see why someone would want him.” 

A feeling of revulsion shoots through Sam, making him scowl. “I know that. But I think it’s why he’s attaching himself to me. He doesn't have anyone else that actually  _ tries  _ with him.” 

Charlie decides to just be as blunt as possible in her rebuttal, clearly done with his hemming and hawing. “No. Mr Wonderful is attracted to you. He’s got the  _ hots  _ for you. He just doesn’t understand what that is, but he likes it anyway, so he’s attaching himself to you like a Genie waiting for the idiot that rubbed the lamp to get their final wish out. And he’s not gonna back off until  _ you  _ take the initiative and get him to.”

Sam grumbles under his breath about that, finishing his coffee in one more pull. “So I should get facial reconstruction surgery?” 

“That could work,” she ponders, tapping a finger against her bottom lip. “Or you could walk in with a paper bag over your head.” 

They lapse into silence then, Sam thinking about her words; Charlie playing a game on her phone between spoonfuls of cereal. It’s a comfortable science. Or, as comfortable as it can be when Sam’s working through things. 

There has to be some kind of compromise. Some way that he can keep things the way that they are without the addition of Dean’s vice-like attachment to him. He knows that it’s not healthy, that it will only progress into something somewhat dangerous, even. Dean lashed out at those Orderlies after all, as if he had no idea they were friend or foe, and that he only cared about getting back to Sam. No one else even registered to him, then. His eyes had been trained on Sam, shedding salty, desperate tears. 

Maybe there is no way for him to cut out the middle man here. Maybe he has to accept that he made a decision at the start not to put space between them. That would have been the optimal time to do it. That would have been his opportunity to prevent something like last night from happening in the first place. All he had to do was step away, reject the hand reaching out to him, not squeeze back, etc. 

He didn’t do that, though. He did squeeze back, held on, accepted the warmth of Dean’s hand in his, the pressure of his fingers digging through the knots in his shoulders, the hands covering his while they pushed the cart along. Sam did that. He had a choice, and he made it. No one else is to blame here but him. Not Dean. Not the other staff. Him. Sam, because he didn’t do anything to stop it. 

And he doesn’t regret it. Not like he should, anyway. He should be wishing he could go back in time to two days ago and not allow Dean to lift him off the ground and everything that followed. He won’t, though. Not ever, for it would be a disservice. To himself, to Dean, to that day. That day was one of the greatest of Sam’s life; it’s one that he will cherish for years to come. That day he met a walking, talking, smiling diamond who just wants to be loved like the rest of the world, and that’s not something he ever wants to look back on ruefully. Rather, he wants to look back on it with fondness, a smile playing on his face where he may be at the time. 

Sam pauses the show he’s watching, turns to Charlie. Her eyes are on the screen of her phone, but he knows that she’s keeping her ears open to anything he might have to say. It’s that kind of support that he really appreciates from her. There’s no pushing, no expectations for him to spill his guts on the table at her request. She waits for him to come to her with his problems, and he returns the favour for her. Not that she finds herself in as many precarious situations as he does. 

“I’m screwed, aren’t?” 

Charlie snickers, nodding her head fractionally, lips popping as she says, “Yep.”


	7. It's Too Loud!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm actually on the autistic spectrum. (High functioning). I have some experience with overstimulation, but it's not quite to this degree. I don't know if Dean has ASD in this, yet... There are plenty of things that can trigger overstimulation, and, too be honest, children can have episodes of overstimulation even when there is nothing innately wrong with them. 
> 
> It's up in the air at this point. 
> 
> Please enjoy the newest chapter. I love hearing from you all. :)

Sammy’s back! Sammy’s back! Sammy’s back! Dean rocks back on his chair. He’s waiting. Waiting for Sam to come through the door. He can see him. So pretty. So handsome. Dean can't’ wait to hug him and squeeze him and tell him he missed him. Kat-litter is watching him. Her eyes flick to the door then back. Again and again. Reminds Dean of Ping Pong.

He doesn’t care. She’s not Sam so he’s not interested. His knees bounce and bounce and bounce, fists clenching in his lap as he waits. Just gotta wait for the door to open then he can wrap Sam up in his arms like he can. Sam lets him do it, so it must be okay. Otherwise he’d say not to. Right? Dean thinks so. Sam is honest and kind and nice to him, so he would tell him if he didn’t like something.

Dean’s sweating. His body is really warm, tingly as he waits for Sammy to come through the door, to come to him again. He woke up to a dark room. He screamed and screamed for Sam but he didn’t show up. Can’t blame him. Dean remembered that he had to go, that he said he’d see him tomorrow. But Dean didn't want him to go. He wanted to stay with Sam all night. Wasn’t tired. Had heaps of energy.

He got a warning when he woke up. Bobby told him he caused a scene, that he hurt someone. Dean said he was sorry. He said it more than once so that Bobby knew that he meant it, then he asked when Sam was gonna get here because that’s what really mattered to him. Bobby told him it was the same time as yesterday and Dean sat in the lobby waiting right away.

Thought about watching some TV but didn’t wanna miss out on Sam turning up. What if he was too distracted to realize the time? Dean scowls at the thought, watches the door. Sam’s still outside. He’s talking to someone. Someone Dean doesn’t know—doesn’t like. Why’re they still talking? Sam needs to sign in, doesn't he? Needs to write his signature on the sheet thing that Kat-litter pushes in front of him.

He folds his arms. _Sulks._ Harrumphs and kicks his legs out, glares at the stranger. They’re still talking. Dean leaps off the chair, steps towards the door. _Stops._ _Spins._ He’s feeling stubborn. Sam will come to him. Stranger person will go away and then he’ll be here with him. Dean’s sure of it. He nods to Kat-litter, who looks at him weird before watching the door again.

Maybe she’s waiting for Sam, too? Heat builds in his belly and chest and Dean scowls at Kat-litter, stomping his foot and running his hands furiously through his hair. His nostrils flare, teeth-gritting.

“What’s taking him so long?”

Kat-litter blinks. 

“There’s trouble with the door, Dean. It’s not opening. It won’t be long, I promise. Why don’t you go wait in the—”

“I’ll wait here,” he snaps, sticking his tongue out. “I’ve been waiting this whole time, y’know?”

“I know, Dean. You’re so patient.”

“I am!”

“Yes, you are,” Kat-litter taps something on the keyboard. Dean fidgets, turns to the door again, bites his lip. “You hovering around isn’t going to get the door open faster, Dean-o.”

“He’s gonna be late. Sam says he doesn’t like bein’ late.”

Dean scratches his hair. Keeps scratching and scratching. He bites his thumb, sweats more. He’s clammy, slick and his clothes stick to him.

“I’ve already made a note of the time he got here. It’s fine, Dean. He’s not going to get in trouble. Is that what you’re worried about?”

_Nods. Nods harder. Grips hair._

“What if he gets fired and loses his job and ends up in a cardboard box in the middle of the Las Vegas strip with—”

“Woah, woah, Dean-o. It’s all right… Most of those movies you watch are just that. Movies. Sam’s fine. He’s not getting fired.”

_Fidgets. Cracks knuckles. Turns head._

“I don't wanna lose him, Kat-litter.” _Shakes._ “He’s my friend. I don’t have any other friends.”

Kat-litter frowns.

“Aren’t we friends?”

Dean bites his lip. Tastes blood. “Sammy’s different. He’s….” _Blushes. Rubs arm, folds them. Shakes head._ “Sammy’s beautiful.” _Grins. Sighs._ “I’m gonna marry him someday and he’ll be my wife or something. Benny says when men get married their… _spouse_ is called their wife, so that’s what Sam’ll be, right?”

“You want to _marry_ Sam?” Kat-litter looks weird again.

“Of course. He’s handsome and nice to me and he has dimples and he doesn’t push me away like everyone else. Like Benny, and Benny said my wife’ll be someone that loves me for me.”

Kat-litter’s face goes red. Dean blinks at her.

“I don’t know if you’ll understand this, Dean-o, but Sam can’t be your wife.”

Dean shakes his head again and again until it hurts. “Why not? I want to marry him. Isn’t that how it works?”

“He’s not a woman,” Kat-litter says, looks like she ate something funny. “Not that you can’t marry another man if that’s what you want in the end. But that man—”

“Sammy.”

“ _That man_ wouldn’t be your wife. He’d be your husband, Dean-o.”

Dean thinks about that. _Grins wider._ “So Sammy’ll be my husband, then?”

Kat-litter still looks like she had bad food. “Like I said, if you marry a man, he’ll be your husband, not your wife.”

“Got it. Sam’ll be my husband, not my wife.”

Dean feels giddy thinking about it. He looks at the door. Watches Sam talk to the stranger. Still doesn’t like them. Whoever they are. But Sam’ll be with him soon and that’s what matters. He’ll get to see those dimples soon and that’s what matters. He’ll marry Sam soon and _that’s_ what matters.

*

Sam sighs with relief when he sees Dean chatting with Katie. He had been worried when he walked up to the door and it hadn’t opened that he would be stuck out here all day, that Dean would be waiting for him anxiously. Luckily, Katie seems to have taken it upon herself to keep him entertained. It’s working, from what Sam can tell from his spot on the other side of the entrance to the building.

Dean’s smiling as he talks animatedly about something, beaming so bright Sam feels the heat from it on his cheek more than the rays of the sun in the sky. That’s happened a lot more than he cares to admit, if he’s being perfectly honest with himself. There’s something about the way Dean smiles that leaves Sam speechless, struggling to form the simplest of words as he gets lost in the beauty of it.

Shaking his head, Sam chastises himself internally, turning to the repairman, who’s staring at the mechanical lock like he hasn’t studied a day in his life. Eventually, he reaches for something out of his tool kit, and Sam pretends to be interested as he flicks his eyes between what the man is doing and Dean gesticulating rapidly to Katie, eyes crinkling at the corners and feet leaving the floor as he bounces up and down excitedly.

“Are they all like that?” the man asks. Sam has the sudden urge to smash his face through the glass doors and step over his corpse. It would be faster than whatever the hell he’s doing. “What’s his damage? My Sister would be frothing at the mouth over a guy like that.”

Sam notices that he’s appraising Dean, lips twitching as he nods to himself, as if affirming what he just said. “Yeah. She’d be all over him.”

“He has the mentality of a child,” Sam says resolutely, keeping the heat out of his voice.

The man shifts his head around, raises an eyebrow. “So? He’s _hot._ I’m not gay or anything but even I can see that he’d have both men and women climbing over each other to get a shot at him first.”

“A shot at him,” Sam repeats, tone tense. “He’s not interested in being some prize. Don’t objectify him.”

“What’s your problem?” the man asks, rolling his eyes. “I’m just making an observation. There’s nothing wrong with having a bit of eye-candy in the workplace.”

Sam squares his shoulders and lowers his voice. “Stop talking about him like he’s nothing but a toy or you’ll regret it.”

For a moment, the man stares at him, both eyebrows arcing as he assesses whether or not his threat is worth taking note of. “You sweet on him or something? There’s no shame in it, pal. No one’s gonna judge who you beat your meat to at night.”

“You’re way out of line,” Sam snaps, resisting the urge to clench his fist in this man’s shirt and shove him against a wall. “Just do your job and be on your way. I won’t tell you again.”

The look on Sam’s face must silence the man’s next words because he quietly goes about getting the door unlocked, casting subtle glances at Sam as he goes. Sam glares at him in warning when he turns his gaze to Dean again, eyes darting around him in what Sam assumes is an effort to see if there are any other patients on Dean’s level. Perhaps even one of the female persuasion he can ogle to his greedy little heart's content.

Sam reminds him one more time that he has a job to do, not even bothering to thank him when the door finally opens up. He spares him no more of his time, striding into the building. Relief floods through him when Dean’s head snaps in his direction, a million-watt smile breaking out on his face as he charges towards Sam and nearly floors him from the force.

He manages to steady them, momentarily surprised he’s not being lifted off the ground. Dean noses his neck, declares that he’s been waiting since 9 A.M. for him to show up, and he glances over to Katie for confirmation. The tip of her head is all he needs, a nervous pit of dread eating its way through his stomach. He anticipated that things weren’t suddenly going to be _normal_ when he got here, but some part of him hoped Dean would have calmed down a touch.

“What do _you_ want?” Dean growls suddenly, arms tightening around Sam as he peers around him. “Go away. Sammy doesn’t wanna talk to you anymore, so there!”

Sam swallows the lump forming in his throat, thinking back to his earlier conversation with the engineer. He’s probably thinking him to be a hypocrite right about now.

“Sorry, buddy,” the man says, sarcastically. “Me and _Sammy_ had such a nice chat that I wanted to say a proper good-bye.”

“ _Good-bye_ … _Why_ are you still here?” Dean rages, moving Sam behind him and standing his ground in front of the man. “Sam has to work. That means you have to go, so _go_ away!”

“Dean,” Sam starts, glaring at the engineer. “It’s all right, Dean. He’s just leaving, _right_?”

Dean doesn't back down at all. In fact, he stomps towards him, body stiff and vibrating with anger. Sam would love to see Dean beat the shit out of this guy, but it’s probably not a good idea, so he darts around him and acts as a barrier. Dean seems to be more displeased by this, gripping Sam’s shirt and putting himself between him and the engineer, again, with so much ease Sam chokes on his next breath.

“Stay away from Sammy,” Dean warns, loudly, repeating it as he pushes at the man’s chest, forcing him over the threshold. “I don’t wanna see you here again!”

The man somehow manages to stop himself from introducing the back of his head to the hard, stone floor, makes the correct decision to take a few more steps away from them.

“Control your dog, _Sammy_ ,” the engineer spits, glaring at the two of them. The comment goes over Dean’s head, but not the tone he used or the face he made, because he starts advancing again, stopped only by Sam’s plea of his name to let it go. “My sister would still take him for a ride.”

Red clouds Sam’s vision, every muscle in his body screaming at him to rearrange this asshole’s face. He somehow ignores it, glad when he sees security rushing over to him and dragging him off the premises. He turns his head and acknowledges Katie’s decision with a grateful smile, allowing Dean to grab his hand and practically drag him over to the sign-in sheet. There’re two twitchy hands on his hips as he writes down his information, thumbs circling the subtle points, a warm forehead resting at the top of his spine.

“Thanks for your help, Katie,” Sam says, offering her another warm smile.

Katie shakes her head like it’s nothing. “I heard what he said and I hesitated for a second. Dean would have put him in hospital. You know that, right?”

Biting his lip, Sam thinks back to last night. “I don’t doubt it.”

“It’s one thing for him to want to be around you, Sam… It’s another for him to be this aggressive towards people he considers _threats_.”

Sam frowns, relaxes into the hold on his hips. Probably shouldn’t do that. “That guy _was_ kind of a threat…”

She nods, agreeing with him as she takes the sheet back. “Yes, he was. But we can’t be letting Dean beat up anyone he doesn’t like being around you.”

“I don’t think it’s just me,” Sam defends, stepping back a respectable distance so that he doesn’t end up flush against Dean’s chest. Dean tries to close the space anyway, hands coming around to steeple at his navel and crotch grazing his ass. Sam quickly steps to the side of him, allowing a hand in his instead. Dean fusses about the loss of complete contact, settling when Sam offers his other hand to draw invisible patterns on. Katie is keeping up a professional facade, but he can see that she’s a little uncomfortable with the exchange. “What about Benny?”

“Oh, Benny would have probably killed him,” Katie says, nervous-laughing. “Benny doesn’t tolerate anyone upsetting Dean. He’s the perfect gentleman. Polite, courteous, full of compliments and good graces, but the moment Dean’s upset, that all goes out the window and he’s a rather scary man.”

Sam shouldn’t be so happy about that, but he’s thrilled that Dean has someone like Benny watching out for him, even if he could potentially be taking things too far.

Dean drops Sam’s other hand and cards it through his hair, massaging his fingers into his scalp. Sam tips his head back unconsciously and Dean squeezes his hand before continuing.

“He hasn’t actually killed someone, though… Right?”

Thankfully, Katie shakes her head. “Not quite. You can kind of tell that he wouldn’t have minded if they did. Die, that is. He probably considers it to be a service to the world when there’s one less scumbag that thinks they can talk about Dean that way and get away with it.” She smiles fondly. “He’s a bit old fashioned, too. Which is both charming and annoying, especially when he admonishes them for swearing in front of a lady,” she says, and Sam rolls his eyes along with her.

Dean pipes up then, “Benny says never to say bad words in front of ladies and to always open doors for them and tell them they look pretty even when they don’t,” he informs them, moving his hand down to Sam’s neck and working the kink out of it from keeping his head bent for this long.

The more Sam learns about Benny, the more he wants to meet the man. He imagines he has a huge heart, that he puts other first. It would make sense considering how much of his own time he sacrificed to be there for Dean when he needed a patient, firm hand to guide him.

With the amount Dean has spoken about Benny, singing his praises, putting him on a pedestal with stars in his eyes as he regaled Sam with story after story from their past, he feels as though he knows him like on old friend that he’ll meet up with again one day. Sam’s not sure he won’t be able to keep the admiration out of his voice or his eyes when he does come face to face with him for the first time. As long as he doesn’t make a fool of himself, he’ll take it as a win.

Katie bids them a nice day when Dean half-carries Sam out of the lobby, Sam absently checking his list of jobs to do in the meantime while Dean tells him about how patient he was while he waited for Sam to show up. He can’t help imagining that there may be some falseness to that, but he doesn't mention it, nodding along and praising him for being so well behaved.

He frowns down at his list suddenly, noticing that he doesn’t have any group activities. Maybe there aren’t any scheduled for the day? Odd. With a look to his right, he sees a door that has _session in progress_ on it so that can’t be the case. Sam purses his lips as they keep walking, Dean’s hand secure in his own, his other one periodically squeezing Sam’s shoulder or playing with the whisps at the base of his neck.

After a short walk, Dean brings them both to a stop, steps far closer than he needs to and pulls Sam into a warm, surprisingly gentle embrace. Sam keeps his hips tilted back even when Dean doesn’t bother to even try. There are certain lines that he must not cross, and he has zero intentions of crossing any of them.

“The mean man got in the way earlier,” Dean says by way of explanation, squeezing Sam and sighing against his neck. “Didn’t get to hold you for long.”

If Sam took away the innocent tone to his voice and replaced it with a sleep-rough one, it wouldn’t be difficult to pass off the sentence as someone simply revealing they missed the other without actually saying the words. In their case, however, Dean seems to have no problem telling him how much he missed him, so he’s not sure what to make of it.

“I don’t get to hold you much during the day. Just when you show up,” Dean adds, sighing again and nuzzling Sam’s throat. “You smell so nice, Sammy.”

This is quickly moving into inappropriate territory and Sam should put a stop to it. He’s warm, his face is starting to sweat and his body is responding in a way it should _not_ be responding. He’s grateful that there’s no one around to see how long he’s allowed Dean to hug him. Finding the strength to push him away is proving far too difficult, the impulse escaping his grasp when he reaches for it.

Sam berates himself, screaming internally that he needs to get it together and pull away from this. It’s not appropriate. Dean’s far too close and his body is far too _male_ and _firm_ and _smells amazing._ He’s disgusted with himself, flooding his brain with nothing but images of violent scenes that make his blood turn cold, focusing the gore to a fine point so that he can shut out the unwanted desires flirting with his headspace.

Eventually, Sam breathes out a calming breath and steps out of the embrace, realizing far too late that Dean probably would have held him the entire day if he didn’t take matters into his own hands.

“Do you have a group, Dean?”

Dean shakes his head. “I don’t want to do groups, today. I want you to play with me,” he says with a grin, and Sam vehemently throws water on the fire burning in his groin. “I haven’t showed you my action figures yet! We can play Batman and Robin, and you can be my Boy Wonder this time. But not in my room. Out here. Not allowed to see the Batcave, right?”

The wink he does is so charming that Sam nearly faints. It’s terrifying how much he would give up just to keep this man smiling and happy.

“Groups are good for you, Dean. It’s good to socialise with others,” Sam reminds him, keeping his tone even.

Dean puts his hands on Sam’s hips and pulls him against him, bottom lip jutting out. Sam catches his feet before he can bring them flush against each other, again.

“I don’t want to so… soskialise—no, that’s not right. Sound it out, Dean. Ellen says sound it out and you’ll get it right,” he mumbles to himself, head lowered as he works it out like it’s a complicated maths problem. “I don’t want to so-cia-lise with anyone other than you. Please? I waited five hours in the lobby for you and I want to play.”

When Dean’s fingers start ducking under his shirt, Sam agrees to play action figures with him, pulling away in the process while Dean jumps up and down excitedly. He darts off down the hall, telling him about all the adventures that they’re going to go on together, that Cas is an unreliable assistant because he doesn’t know what a Batterang is. He says this like it should be obvious, shouting loud enough for Sam to hear him before a door opens and Dean disappears through it.

Sam takes the reprieve to draw in a breath, keeping a smile on his face as Dean bursts back through the door moments later, sprinting towards him at a worrying speed. Sam watches for obstructions on the ground, glad to see none as Dean gets back to his side, hand gripping his immediately and dragging him over to a more open space.

Dean sits cross-legged on the floor, urging Sam to sit down with him. He does, putting a bit of space between their knees as Dean sets the scene, hand still in his, warm and present while he explains what their mission is today.

“Penguin and his crooks are robbing a bank, so we have to stop him, Boy Wonder,” he says in his Batman voice, shaking the toy in his hand to give it some kind of convincing motion.

It’s been a _long_ time since Sam played with action figures, so he’s somewhat at a loss for what to do here.

“Uh, sure thing, Batman,” Sam says, blushing. Dean squeezes his hand and continues the scene, eagerly waiting for Sam’s comment on his action noises when they confront Penguin. He’s making sounds like _wapow, kapoo, kathunk,_ and it’s far too adorable for Sam to sit through without his cheeks hurting from how hard he’s grinning. “Holy Space Cowboys, Batman, Penguin’s men are getting away.”

“You’re right, Boy Wonder. Use your Bat-bike to chase them and cut them off. _I’ll_ deal with Penguin,” Dean says seriously, moving his figure over to a stationary Penguin figure, who’s holding his umbrella pointing downwards.

Dean’s voice gets higher and creepier as he imitates Penguin, monologuing about how he’s too late, that he’s not going to get in the way of his plans this time. Sam momentarily forgets where they are, losing himself in Dean’s brilliant imagination. He can almost see the scene unfolding in his mind, Batman telling Penguin that he’s going straight back to Arkham, Penguin replying that he can’t stop him, the back and forth as they outsmart each other.

He’s not sure how long they sit there, mapping out an entire Batman arc. Dean does most of the work, with Sam filling in the blanks as they go. Sam’s hand is somewhat cramping after the second hour of holding a toy but he pushes through it, content to sit there all day if it makes Dean as happy as it does.

The peace is interrupted when more patients start filing into the room, talking amongst themselves, the noise from the TV cutting through some of Dean’s dialogue. He starts getting frustrated, repeating the line again and frowning when there’s a loud, sharp noise coming from outside. Sam’s not sure what it is, and he has the mind to investigate it. Dean’s hand stops him before he can leave, his grip tightening all of a sudden, his toy dropping to the floor as he tries to cover his ears with one hand, moving between them.

Sam starts calling his name softly when he ducks under his shirt, head shaking and body squirming. Dean’s head snaps from side to side, body folding in on himself as he cries out for quiet. Sam’s heart races, situating himself in front of Dean and putting his hands on his shoulders, trying to get him to tell him what the problem is so that he can help—so that he stops feeling so helpless.

“Loud. Too loud. Sammy, it’s too loud!” Dean yells at him, face going red, the hand holding his squeezing to the point of pain now. Sam moves his hand up and places it over Dean’s other ear, encouraging him to look at him and breathe with him, in for four and out for four.

“I can’t! I can’t! I can’t! It’s too loud. I don’t like it! Shut up!” Dean screams, and Sam sees the sweat shining on his neck. In the next moment, Dean folds his legs under himself and releases Sam’s hand. He pushes them against his ears, squeezes his eyes shut, breathes in sharply and screams for everyone to shut up again.

Sam looks around, notices the attention Dean’s attracting. In the crowd of people, he sees Ruby watching the scene unfold, a guilty set to her eyes that sparks an uncategorised anger in Sam’s stomach, something akin to instinct telling him that she has something to do with what’s happening to Dean.

He tries to focus on getting Dean to breathe with him, adding the protection of his own hands to Dean’s to further keep out the noise that’s bothering him. Dean’s watching his lips, body shaking less as he breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth.

It all appears to be going well until there’s another loud, high-pitched scraping sound coming from outside that has Dean twisting out of Sam’s hands and burying his face in the couch, pillow covering his head, body convulsing. Sam can hear the muffled screams of _shut up,_ his heart breaking with each one that tears through him.

Sam has no other choice but to let Dean work through it, resisting the urge to rub his back, fighting back tears caused by the ripples of his shoulders and the clenching of his fingers on the fabric of the cushion. This shouldn’t be happening. Bobby told him that once they put Dean on the right meds, he stopped experiencing overstimulation, so there’s only one explanation that makes sense as to why he’s shaking like a leaf with his head buried in the couch.

Again, Sam turns his gaze on Ruby, somewhat satisfied that there’s remorse in her eyes as she watches Dean, looking away between pauses guiltily.

After ten minutes, the sounds from outside dissipate. Sam turned the TV off at some point to make it easier on Dean, requesting that everyone else give him some space and keep the noise down. Luckily, no one argued against it and they all worked to make things more comfortable for Dean. Some of the other patients even asked if Mr. Handsome was going to be okay, which Sam couldn't help snickering at.

Tentatively, Sam pats Dean’s back, feeling like liquid fire crashes through him when Dean stiffens at his touch. In the next instant, Dean throws the cushion off himself, gets to his feet and stands there with a scandalised look on his face. His face flames and his shoulders start shaking for a new reason as he chokes on a sob, tears free-falling down his cheeks before he runs off down the hall.

Sam’s whole being dies temporarily at that moment, shutting down to nothingness, stripped of his humanity as he turns cold eyes on Ruby for a fraction of a second. 

“You didn’t give him his meds, did you?”

Ruby startles, eyes refusing to meet his. All she offers is a shake of her head.

Breathing out through his nose to get a grip on his composure, Sam runs off in the direction Dean went, finding him in a corner, crying his heart out and pulling his hair.

The sight makes Sam feel sick, worthless. Most of all, it makes him feel like an utter failure.

“Dean… Hey, buddy, it’s all right,” Sam starts, gently, lowering to his haunches in front of Dean. Dean turns his head away from him, the sudden sting of rejection tightening the clutch of Sam’s throat.

“You probably think I’m such a loser now,” Dean says, choking on another sob. “You don't think I’m cool anymore because I’m weird and I don’t like loud noises and I’m crying because you don’t wanna be my friend anymore and I can’t breathe and I just wanted to keep playing and I—”

“Dean,” Sam cuts him off, staving off his own tears and stopping Dean’s repetitive tugging of his hair. “I don’t think you’re a loser. In fact, I think you’re super, super awesome,” he tells him, smiling. He quickly uses his shirt to wipe Dean’s face, not even caring that it’s smeared with snot and tears now. “The greatest heroes have weaknesses, Dean. But they’re a part of who they are, and I like who you are.”

Dean throws his arms around him and holds him tight. Sam lets him. He needs this and he’s not taking it anywhere it doesn’t need to go.

When Dean relaxes into him and sniffles, Sam asks the question that’s been burning on the tip of his tongue.

“Why didn’t you take your meds, Dean?”

He holds his breath when Dean draws his head back, eyes glimpsing his lips between beats as he worries his bottom lip before replying, “I wanted you to give me my meds.”

Sam admonishes him lightly. “I don’t get here until early afternoon, Dean. You need to take your meds way before that, Mister.”

“But I don’t want to take them from _Ruby._ I want to take them from you.” Dean pouts, tucking his head under Sam’s chin. “I don’t like Ruby. She looks at me funny and I don’t think she likes me either.”

Anger roars in his chest. Sam beats it into submission and breathes out a sharp breath. “I’ll talk to Ruby.”

“Can’t you just come earlier so _you_ can give me my meds?” Dean argues, lifting his head again, curiosity strong in his eyes as he trains them on Sam’s lips.

Sam backs off, clearing his throat and responding, “That would have to be decided by Bobby and Missouri, Dean.”

“Hmm. Ellen pays a lot of money here. I’ll ask her to ask them to ask you to start earlier. And finish later, so that you’re here before I wake up!” Dean exclaims like it’s the only reasonable solution, chasing Sam’s face again. “Won’t that be awesome? Then we can spend all day together.”

Swallowing again, Sam catches the glint in Dean’s eyes before his lips almost make contact with his, Sam’s hand getting in the way before they can connect, his heart hammering in his chest as he comes up with something on the fly.

“You can’t kiss me Dean. We’re not married,” he rushes out in a breath, inclining his head back as far as it will possibly go.

“So I can kiss you when we are married?” Dean asks, looking like a kid in a candy store who just got told it’s a free for all.

Sam gets to his feet and Dean follows him, taking both of his hands in his. “You can kiss someone you’re married to, yes,” he says instead of acknowledging that Dean pretty much implied they _would_ get married.

“Then I can kiss you when you’re my husband,” Dean clarifies, seemingly pleased with that.

Thinking quickly, Sam questions Dean about what’s next for Batman and Boy Wonder, glad that it has the desired effect of diverting the conversation away from their alleged pending nuptials.

*

Sam collapses on his bed the second he comes in contact with it, not even bothering to get undressed. He can still hear Dean’s pleas for him to stay longer, to play more action figures with him. The look of pure agony on his face as he was dragged away, again, will replace the one from Sam’s previous nightmare when he eventually falls asleep.

His entire body is shaking. Inside and out. He can barely draw in breath as he relives Dean pounding his fists on the door to the lobby, the handle protesting as he wrestled with it and the Orderlies behind him, who were struggling to get him under control. They shoved Sam out of the room and locked it before he could assist them, saying that he needs to get used to seeing Sam leave or something.

He tried not to look at Dean as he walked away, each step feeling like another world was put between them. Dean cried out his name on repeat, banging on the wood, the glass, the doors caving in somewhat as he pushed against it.

Katie offered him looks of sympathy as he watched Dean fight against the Orderlies working together to sedate him, eventually winning out in the end. Sam couldn’t help feeling grateful that he hadn’t dropped in his arms this time, the image still haunting him even now as he shakes his head on the pillow, wishing it didn’t have to be that way.

Tomorrow is the start of the weekend and Benny won’t be coming to see Dean. Sam’s not working tomorrow… Dean’s not going to have anyone to come and visit him. He’s going to be lonely.

Sam sighs and rolls onto his front, staring at the ceiling as if it’s the cause of all of his problems.

What a day.


	8. Which Is Today!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad that more people are starting to appreciate this! I love writing it and it makes me so happy to know that there are people that are excited for a new update. 
> 
> Well, here's a new one! 
> 
> I don't have anxiety... So I hope I did this justice.

Dean wakes up.

_Blink. Blink. Blink._

_Rub. Rub. Rub._

_Yawn. Stretch. Rub_

Morning. It’s another morning. Another morning alone.

Dean stares at the door, sucks his lips into his mouth. His throat hurts. They told him that if he kept shouting, he would wake up with a sore throat. They were right. Dean’s not gonna tell them that though. Then they win. And he doesn’t want them to win. He wants them to know that he’s not happy. With them. With anyone.

They let Sammy leave. They pushed him out of the room. Dean saw. He ran for him, tried to get the door open but it wouldn’t budge. The people in white shouted at him, told him he needed to calm down.

He couldn’t. Not when he could see Sammy getting further away. Dean wanted to go with him! Sam wouldn’t have minded. Sam is a nice person. He likes Dean, thinks he’s funny. Thinks he’s brave and awesome and cool and didn’t make fun of him when he cried.

Dean wanted to walk out the door with him. Wanted to hold his hand, follow him anywhere. Anywhere with Sam sounds like the best thing ever.

_Scratch. Scratch. Yawn._

He gets out of bed, pulls the covers back. Ellen doesn’t like messy sheets. Always tuck the sides in, fluff the pillows then he can have breakfast. That’s the deal. That’s how it goes. That’s what he does.

Dean thinks about Sam’s smile while he changes out of his sleep clothes. He puts them in the basket thing, thanking it when it closes. Benny says he should thank it because it has to deal with his _stanky ass,_ the least Dean can do is show it some appreciation. Benny says the same thing about the toilet, which Dean finds a little embarrassing but he says thank you anyway because it’s polite.

Today he’s gonna take his pills because Sammy said he’ll be really upset if he finds out he didn’t take them again, so he’s going to because he doesn’t want to see Sam upset. That’s the last thing he wants. Sammy should always be smiling. Always showing those dimples that Dean loves.

Breakfast, pills, shower, then wait for Sam. That’s Dean’s plan. He’s supposed to go to a group, but he’s gonna skip that and wait for Sam instead. He doesn’t care about the group. He only cares that he’s gonna see Sam later.

Dean grins as he opens the door, checking left and right before crossing. Benny says he should always look both ways, even when he’s not crossing a road. He says there’re less chances for accidents that way, so Dean doubles checks.

He nods stiffly when he sees no one is coming. He doesn't run to the cafeteria because he’s not allowed to run in the halls. He did yesterday but Sammy didn’t say anything so it must be okay when he’s around Sam. Yeah. Sammy is so cool.

It’s quiet on his walk. Buffy is talking to Igor. TV’s on. Some advert is playing, about Pringles. Dean likes pringles. He wonders if Sam likes Pringles. He wonders if Sam will bring him Pringles if he asks.

Dean hums the Batman theme tune to himself as he enters the cafeteria. Lines up. Gets his food. Eats in silence. Knees bounce. Checks the clock a lot. Barely twenty minutes passed.

Sighs. Chucks empties in the trash and goes to get his pills. Ruby isn’t here today. Professor OJ is giving them out. His hair is so orange. Dean wonders if he spilt OJ on it and never got it out.

He laughs at his own thought, sniggers as he takes his cap, knocks it back and sips some water. Professor OJ smiles at him. Dean smiles back. He’s not really happy but Benny says he has a nice smile and people will appreciate it.

Pills in his tummy, Dean goes to see Bobby. Has to check-in. Bobby has a talk with him in the mornings, sees how he is. Asks him some questions.

Bobby tells him to come in when he knocks, but he keeps knocking because it’s fun and Bobby will answer the door with a red face, then he’ll smile when he sees it’s Dean.

Dean puts a hand over his mouth to quiet his laughter as he keeps knocking.

_Knock, knock, knock, knock._

“Come in…”

_Knock, knock, knock, knock._

Bobby grumbles something. Dean can’t make it out. He grins behind his hand and keeps knocking.

“Oh, for the love of!” Bobby snaps, throws the door open. Sees Dean. Smiles at him and shakes his head. Rolls his eyes. “I should have known it was you, Dean.”

“Your face is all red,” Dean says, points at him.

Bobby blows out his face and slaps his cheeks. Dean laughs. “Are you comin’ in?”

 _Nods_ , walks inside. “When does Sam start?”

“We’ll get to that, Dean. I need to talk to you ‘bout somethin’ first.”

Dean nods again, stares at the floor. “Okay. What’s up?”

Bobby sits down, plays with his cap. “I’ve been told that Ruby didn’t give you your pills yesterday. Is that true?”

 _Nods_. “I didn’t want her to give me my pills. I wanted Sammy to give me my pills.”

“Did you say that to Ruby?”

“I said I’ll wait for Sam. She said he won’t be there til later. I said I don’t care. She said I still need to take them. I said no. She said I take them or she’ll make me and I said she can’t make me and ran away.”

Bobby looks upset. Dean frowns. “She said she’d _make_ you take them?” His face is red again. Really red. Like he’s gonna burst.

“Are you okay, Bobby?”

“I’m fine, Dean. Don’t you worry about me, son. Are you absolutely sure she said that?”

 _Nods._ “I told Sam and he said he would talk to her.”

“He did,” Bobby says, frowning. “Well, that’s all I really needed for that… But, Dean, Sam’s not here early enough for you to take your pills. You know that, right?”

Dean chews his nail. Remembers Ellen says he shouldn’t do it and stops.

“Can’t he start earlier? Then he can be here when I wake up and we can play all day and I can show him more basketball and more of my action figures and—”

“Dean, he’s already doing a lot of hours. If I start him before you wake up, he’ll be a zombie by midnight.”

“No. No, Sammy can do it. He’s amazing. And he likes me so it’s okay,” Dean says, crossing his arms. “He’ll come earlier, just ask him. He’ll say yes. You’ll see.”

Bobby looks away from him. “What are you gonna do today, Dean?”

“I’m gonna go shower and then wait for Sam. What time is he comin’ in?”

Bobby won’t look at Dean.

“Dean… Sam doesn’t work on the weekends. He won’t be coming in today.”

No… No, that can’t be right. Dean said he would see Sam tomorrow. He said he would see him tomorrow. Which is today. He knows because he checked his calendar and it said that tomorrow is today and he said that he would see Sam tomorrow, which is today, so he has to see him today or he’s a liar and he wants to see Sam and he wants to see him today.

_Shakes head. Fidgets. Shakes head harder._

“You’re wrong, Bobby! Sam will come today. He will see me. I said I would see him tomorrow—which is today! So I’m gonna see him today,” Dean says, pacing.

_Twiddles thumbs._

“I’m sorry, Dean. I am. Truly. But it’s the truth.”

_Shakes head. SIde to side, side to side, side to side, sidetosidetosidetoside._

“It’s not the truth! You’re lying. You’re lying—you’re a liar, Bobby! Sammy will be here. He’ll come and see me. You’ll see. He’ll be here. He’s nice to me and he doesn’t say I’m too much or that I’m in his space, so he’ll be here! So there!”

_Turns. Throws door open._

_Crack._

Dean runs. He runs and runs until he gets to his room and slams his door shut.

He sits. Grabs his hair and tugs. Tugs and tugs and it’s sore but he keeps tugging.

“I said I would see him tomorrow, so I’m seeing him today! Because that’s _today,”_ Dean shouts.

_Knock, knock._

“Dean?”

“Go away! I don’t wanna speak to anyone. I’m not coming out of my room for anyone but Sammy!”

_Rubs arms. Scratches. Scratch, scratch, scratch._

“Dean, please, be reasonable, son. You’ll see Sam on Monday—”

“I know. I know I’ll see Sammy on Monday. But today is Saturday and I said I would see him today so I’m gonna see him today,” Dean yells back, smacks his head on the door. “Go away, Bobby. I don’t wanna talk to you unless you bring me my Sam.”

Bobby mutters something. Dean doesn’t hear it. Doesn’t care anyway.

“Dean—”

_Shoves fingers in ears._

“ _Lalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala–_ go away _–lalalalalalalalalalalalalala—_ I can’t hear you _—lalalalalalalalalalalalalala.”_

_Takes fingers out. Huffs. Whacks door, kicks out, fidgets, bites lip, screams!_

“Sam! Sammy! Sam! I want my Sammy!”

_Curls in. Hugs knees. Screams._

“Bring me my Sam! Now! I want to see him now!”

_Sniffles. Knocks head on knees._

“Sammy… Sam… Where are you? I need you…”

Dean doesn’t get to see Benny today. He misses him so much it hurts and Sam could make it better. Would make it better. But he’s not here. And he misses Benny and now he’s so sad and his chest is empty and it hurts.

“I wa-wanna see Sam… I just wanna see Sam!”

_Sobs. Shakes head. Rocks._

“I hate you all! You don’t care about me! You don’t care because you won’t let me see Sam and you’re mean and I hate all of you!”

_Screams._

_*_

Castiel is not quite sure what he has come upon, unable to comprehend why Dean’s room resembles a Category 4 hurricane tearing through his bedroom in such a way, that is rather reminiscent of that Tazmanian Devil that Dean pointed out to him on the Television destroying everything in its wake.

He was concerned that Dean may have been in danger, for his stress levels were alarmingly high and did not seem to be dropping any time soon. So Castiel made an appearance. He does not usually visit Dean during the day. There are fewer risks to Dean that way, as humans tend to assume without asking that anyone that talks to _themself_ are automatically a danger to everyone around them, which is why Castiel opted to spend time with Dean more often during the night.

From what Castiel can gather, Dean is, indeed, upset about something. In fact, Castiel has never seen him quite so distraught. His room is no longer recognisable. There are splinters on the door. His clothes are strewn all over the carpet, wrinkled and a mixture of dirty and fresh. The covers are balled up in the corner, leaving just the sheet for Dean to spread out on and scream into the material.

Considering the only word coming out of his mouth is Sam or Sammy, it stands to reason that he has something to do with Dean’s misery.

“Dean…”

Dean does not turn to greet him. Even when he’s burdened with something, he usually acknowledges Castiel’s greeting, so this is uncharted waters.

“Dean, why are you… crying?”

“I’m _not_ crying. I’m a big boy. I don’ cry! _Much._ ”

“Okay,” Castiel replies, uneasy. Dean’s clearly crying. His cheeks are wet. The spot below his face is wet. His eyes are wet… “I don’t know what the protocol is here. Am I supposed to pretend that there aren’t tear-tracks on your face?”

“Leave me ‘lone, Cas,” Dean whines, squirming. “I don’t wanna talk to anyone. Or you.”

“But you are talking to me…” Castiel frowns. “Uh… What happened?”

“Go ‘way,” Dean says, sniffing. “They won’t let me see Sam.”

“They won’t let you?” Castiel repeats. “Why is that?”

Dean grumbles and rolls over. His eyes are puffy and his clothes are rumpled. “They said he doesn’t work today. But I said I would see him tomorrow, which his today, so ‘m gonna see him today!”

Benny is not visiting today. He has other responsibilities down at the lake and was unable to get time away. Perhaps Dean thought it would be easier if he were able to see Sam instead.

“Is this about Benny, Dean?” Castiel asks, calmly.

Another tear rolls down Dean’s cheek. “Benny has stuff to do. Big, important stuff and I get that and I don’t blame him and I know he would see me if he could and I—I miss him, Cas. It hurts and it won’t go ‘way,” Dean explains, wiping his nose on his shirt. “It hurts here… A lot. Like ‘m hungry and I can’t get full.”

Castiel understands what is happening now. He is a little pleased with himself that he was able to figure it out. He so often falls short when it comes to human problems but he is succeeding more and more, at least when it comes to Dean, this man who is far more special than he realises. Far more cherishable than a room full of God’s creatures.

“Benny will be here next weekend, Dean, and you can see him then.”

“Don’t you think I know that, Cas?” Dean questions angrily, folding his arms. “I know ‘m not gonna see him for… for another week and it hurts and I just don’t want it to hurt anymore and Sam could make it not hurt so much anymore. I just need to see him!”

It is hard to see Dean… Like he is. A typical human would not have an issue with waiting a few days to a week to see someone again. Dean is not like a typical human, however, and Castiel has witnessed his distress on multiple occasions since appearing in his room at night. If he was authorised to do so, he would be compelled to fetch Sam Wesson and bring him to Dean without a moment to spare. Those are not the rules. He cannot kidnap someone from their home, no matter his personal wish to no longer see Dean upset.

Instead, he clears his throat, stays where he’s standing on a pile of clothes and says, “I’m sorry, Dean.”

There is not much else he can say. Or do. He is not permitted to intervene, nor is he permitted to nullify Dean’s sadness. Both of which he could do, and yet, both of which he has to stop himself from doing. It is confusing. Frustrating, as humans would say.

“Just leave me alone, Cas…,” Dean says, words bathed in misery. “Leave me alone!” He repeats, louder and packed with intense anger, eyes narrowed on the door. Castiel realises he is responding to the tentative knocks on the outside. “I said leave me ‘lone, Bobby!”

“Dean, come on, son… It’s lunchtime, don’t you wanna come and get some food?” Bobby asks, his tone full of worry for the man.

“I eat with Sam!” Dean snaps back. “I’ll eat with him when he gets here and sees me like he’s going to—like I know he’s going to because I said I would see him tomorrow—which is _today.”_

Bobby sighs on the other side of the door, tone softening further. “How ‘bout I get Benny on the phone so you can talk to him? I’m sure he can spare half an hour for his favorite little brother.”

What sounds rather reasonable to Castiel is apparently the opposite.

“No! Benny is busy. He has lots of stuff to do. Important stuff. Don’ disturb him or ’ll get really mad,” Dean yells, slamming his fist on the wall. “Benny will see me next week. He said so and I believe him and I’ll see him then. I’m not eatin’ anythin’ until Sam gets here,” he reiterates, narrowing his eyes harder at the door with a pout on his lips. “So go away! Just _go_ away, _both_ of you!”

“Both?” Bobby questions, curiosity heavy in his inflexion. Castiel is aware that Dean has told Sam about him, but he has not told anyone else. “Fine. I’ll come back and check on you in a little bit.”

“Not unless you have my Sammy,” Dean intones, scowling at the door. “I don’ want anyone else knocking on m’ door!”

The sound of Bobby’s footsteps drifts as he rounds the corner. Dean’s staring at him like Castiel is the cause of his problem, and he is not sure how to cope with that.

“I said _both_ of you, Cas,” Dean says with a huff, twisting over and pressing his face into his sheet.

Castiel does not move.

*

Sam’s been staring at the phone with a mixture of desperation and disbelief for the better part of two hours now, the coffee that was prepared for him practically cold as ice by this point. It’s sitting there, mocking him. Blinking when he gets a notification. Vibrating when an unknown number flits across his screen, which he waits out until it dies. Sam’s not willing to listen to anyone trying to get him to change his cable plan. He’s happy with what he has, thanks.

What he’s waiting for, he’s not sure. Well, that’s not completely true. He’s wondering if he’ll get a call. A call about Dean, that he’s freaking out. It’s past 3 P.M. after all. Way past it. Dean would have realised that he’s not coming in by now, and Sam’s not certain how he feels about the suffocating guilt that comes along with that thought.

All he can see is Dean tugging on his hair, _screaming._ Crying. Crying for Sam.

His heart clenches, a wave of nausea making his next sip of water taste like bile as he swallows it down, throat burning from the dryness. The last time he moved from his couch was to use the bathroom. That was six hours ago. He didn’t even make his own coffee, Charlie did. Put it in front of him, told him to drink it and told him not to worry so much, that they would survive a day without his awesomeness.

Sam did try to smile. He really did, but he had enough trouble sleeping last night that he isn't convinced his face held within it the ability to stretch that far then, or now.

The entire night, all he kept thinking about was Benny not visiting Dean today, seeing Dean all alone, sad… So alone… It breaks Sam’s heart to think about it. It breaks his heart even more knowing that Dean was already anxious about not seeing Benny today, and he had to find out at some point during that Sam isn’t coming to see him either.

It wouldn’t be right, would it? It would look weird. Weider than it already is between them for him to show up on his off time. Just rock up to the place, waltz in, find Dean and spend as much time as he can playing actions figures with him. And he would. Sam’s not comfortable admitting it at all, but he would. He would, in a heartbeat, if Dean wanted him to, and that’s what terrifies him.

Sam wonders if it would be best if he turned his phone off, then it would take away the temptation to call up. No, he can’t do that. There could be an emergency. He would never forgive himself if they needed him and couldn’t get ahold of him.

His friends as well. Of course.

What is he supposed to do here? His heart is telling him to call. His gut is telling him to call. His mental mantra is telling him to call. Should he ignore all of those impulses? Is that the healthier option? It might be, but he will sleep better if he at least knows that Dean is okay, that he took his pills…

Did he take his pills? What if Ruby didn’t give him his pills again—what if he’s freaking out right now and no one can get him to calm down? Sam reported her to Bobby. He told Sam that he would talk to her, and he seemed furious when he passed along the information, so Sam’s confident that she will be dealt with properly.

To be honest, Sam would rather she didn’t lose her job over this. He won’t be upset if she does, either. It doesn’t matter if Dean told her she looked like _Admiral Ackbar,_ she has no right to tell him that she would force him to take his pills.

Sam’s teeth grind together just thinking about it, Ruby having two Orderlies holding Dean down, keeping him tight to the floor, squeezing his mouth open and shoving the pills down his throat.

His stomach lurches. He swallows it down.

Would it be so bad just to call and see how things are going? Katie likes him. They have a good rapport. Say he calls her up to talk about his… Wages? Yeah. His wages. That works. Then maybe she lets slip what’s been happening. If she says nothing, Sam might be able to sleep tonight knowing that there isn’t a problem.

He should do it. He should call. It’s not breaking the rules. There’s nothing against him calling when it’s his day off. He could have legitimate concerns about his wages. And Katie would know where to direct him. It’s not a bad thing, right? Sam’s not overstepping his bounds by calling up, completely Dean-unrelated, however, hoping that he’s mentioned so that he can have some peace of mind, right?

Right?

Sam shakes his head. This is crazy. He should just let it be what it is, turn up on Monday and resume from where he left off. Maybe it’ll do Dean some good to not see Sam for the weekend…

But… Benny. He’s not seeing Benny… He’s alone. He needs someone.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Sam’s not normally like this. He would like to think of himself as a rather laidback guy, for the most part. His friends over the years have told him so. They’ve told him that he has a calming effect on them, that they know if they go to him with a problem, he’ll listen to them all the way to the end, offer his opinion only if it is asked and deliver it in such a way that they don’t’ feel as though they’re going out of their mind.

So why does _he_ feel like he’s going out of _his_ mind?

“Oh my God, will you just call them?!” Charlie grits from the kitchen doorway, arms crossed over her chest. “I didn’t realise it was your time of the month, Sam. Seriously. You’re spiralling. Just call. It will make you feel better.”

Sam casts wounded eyes on her. “I can’t. It’s not ethical.”

“Why?”

“It’s my day off. I can’t call and be like ‘Oh, hey, how’s Dean doin’? Did he takes his meds? Did he eat? Did he go to his groups?’ It doesn’t work like that, Charlie,” Sam replies, forlornly.

“Then give me the phone and I’ll call them. I’ll chat up the receptionist. You said she’s hot, right?”

Sam rolls his eyes.

“Right, so I’ll get… Katie talkin’, then she’ll mention something about Dean and we’ll set up a date and you can go and make sure Dean is okay… _Or,_ you can stop being such a sissy and call them already.”

“What do I say?” Sam almost pleads.

Charlie smirks. “You say ‘Hey, Katie, my super hot roommate wants your number. Give me your digits—”

Sam glares at her.

“Okay, okay. You ask about something that has nothing to do with Dean and if there is a problem, it will come out soon enough, I promise,” Charlie says, reaffirming his belief in his own plan.

As he picks up the phone and dials the number for _Kansas City Health and Wellbeing Centre,_ Sam can’t help thinking to himself that Charlie and Dean would get along if they met. Charlie has this… _effect_ on people. Even if you don’t understand what she’s saying half the time, you’re just… _drawn_ to her. She’s so easy to talk to and isn’t afraid to call you on your shit if she smells any, which she has done many times when Sam has been on dates and pretended that it went well, only to get drunk with Charlie and talk about how awful it had been.

Dean would like Charlie, Sam reckons. She has endless patience when she thinks people deserve it, and he can already see that she’s developing a soft spot for the man without having met him, with all of the stories that Sam has told her, keeping out any safeguarding details that he’s not at liberty to disclose to someone outside of the loop, which doesn’t affect the story-telling in the slightest.

Charlie smiles at him as he holds the phone to his ear, his heart feeling more constricted as each ring goes unchecked. It feels like a cotton ball has suddenly found its way into his throat, prompting him to reach out for another sip of his water, taking a few pulls instead as his palms start to sweat, Adam’s apple jumping up and down as he swallows again and again, almost praying for the phone to pick up on the other side.

“ _Kansas City Health and Wellbeing Centre._ Katie speaking. How can I help?” Katie answers, politely, on the other end of the phone, and just hearing her voice softens the stranglehold on his throat.

“Hi, Katie—It’s, uh, Sam. Sam Wesson,” he replies, suddenly wanting to slap himself for how out of touch he sounds.

Katie’s tone changes. “Oh, hey! Hey, Sam. Yeah. What’s up?” She sounds nervous.

Sam frowns, decides not to push. “I was calling to ask you about my, um, first wages? I know sometimes it takes a bit to settle, and I’m worried because I have a few bills scheduled to come out, is all,” he tells her, not completely lying through his teeth, but he may as well be.

There’s a much longer pause than Sam would expect after he finishes relaying his money concerns. It goes eerily quiet, and he can’t help but listen out for any sounds in the background.

“Sorry, Sam—your wages, you said?” Katie asks, the tapping of keys clacking through the receiver. “I figured you were the type to get a jump on things, even if you have only worked a week.”

Sam smiles sheepishly, aware she can’t see it. “Yeah, I get that from my Dad, mostly,” he admits, drumming a mute beat on his knee. “I really just need to know that they’re gonna go in on time, so that—”

_Bang. Crash. Thud._

“Is everything okay?” Sam rushes out. “What was that?”

Katie breathes in sharply. “I’m sorry, Sam, but I need to go, and—”

“Katie, what’s going on?”

She sighs, pauses for a long time. “It hasn’t been an easy day, Sam. Dean’s been having a hard time with Benny not coming to see him,” she tells him, and it feels like there’s something else she’s not telling him.

“What’s he doing now?” Sam pushes.

Katie sighs again. “He’s… Barricaded himself in his room. Said he won’t come out until…”

“Until?” Sam urges.

“Until he sees you—and that’s not all, he keeps punching the door and throwing things at the wall and it’s starting to have a domino effect on everyone else. Sam, they’re not settling,” she says, sounding as wrecked as she probably feels. “We’ve already had to sedate three patients for violent behavior towards the staff. I don’t know what to do…”

Sam is already working his jacket and shoes on, not caring that he’s in casual wear as he snatches his keys off the hook.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

In the car, Sam almost ignores all of the laws of the road, fingers gripping the wheel so tight that his knuckles feel like they need an oil change the moment he lets go of the wheel outside of the centre, peeling himself out of his the car without a second thought.

He runs up to the door, flashes his face to the camera, smiling tersely. The door opens for him. He strides inside, darts to the reception area to rapidly scrawl his signature on the sheet, giving Katie a reassuring nod before making his way to the double doors.

Not waiting for them to even fully open, Sam slips through the gap, taking in the restless men and women displaying signs of aggression or hysteria to the staff, voices carrying over each other as they shout the lines in their head, spurred on by the uproarious screaming coming from Dean’s room.

Sam can hear it now, his heart plummeting to his feet, each step feeling as though he’s stomping on it as he draws closer.

“No— _no,_ you’re lying! Sammy will be here. He will! He will! He will! I said I would see him tomorrow—which is _today,_ so ‘m gonna see him,” Dean yells, another crash vibrating through the floor to Sam’s shoes.

When Sam rounds the corner and starts down the corridor to Dean’s room, he sees Bobby camped outside, looking utterly defeated and helpless. It’s a sad sight. Missouri is to the right of him, her hand on his shoulder for moral support. Sam can see that it’s not working. There are a couple of others gathered around, Orderlies in case Dean comes out of his room and decides to attack, which Sam can’t help scowling at as he moves past them, eyes softening when he approaches Bobby.

“What’re you doin’ here, boy?” Bobby questions, eyes darting back and forth between him and the door. “And why do you look like you’re headin’ for Spring Break?”

Sam would hardly say that a shirt, a plaid long-sleeve, jeans and steel-toe caps is Spring Break wear, but maybe it is to Bobby.

Ignoring his comment, Sam offers a warm smile to the man. “I called up about my wages and heard a crash. Katie told me what was going on, and I’m here to help,” he says, pinning his eyes on the door.

“Sam? Is that you? Is that Sammy?” Dean questions from his room, his voice tight and croaky. “Not funny, Bobby—you shouldn’t do things like that—”

“Hey, Dean,” Sam calls, letting Bobby know it’s all right and that he has this with his eyes alone. “What’s all the fuss about, huh?”

There’s shuffling on the other side, things being tossed probably left and right, then the door nearly tears off its hinges as Dean gets it open and throws his arms around Sam.

“I knew you would come and see me! They said you weren’t gonna come and see me. But I knew you would because I said I would see you tomorrow—which is today, so I knew you would see me today because Benny can’t see me and I’m sad and I just wanted to see you and hold you and I know you can make it all better, Sam,” Dean says, sounding absolutely drained as he yawns against Sam’s neck. “Now that you’re here, I can have somethin’ to eat! ‘m hungry,” he muffles, nuzzling him. “Come on, Sammy,” he insists, pulling from the embrace and tugging him in the direction of where he believes the food to be, completely ignoring Bobby. “Let’s go eat at our table, okay?”

And then he smiles at Sam.

And it’s so radiant that he wonders if this is all a dream, that at any moment he’ll wake up from it, and he’ll never have met this ball of sunshine that brightens his existence.

That would make it a nightmare.

Sam nods and lets Dean lead the way, not paying attention to any of the looks that they get as Dean holds his hand and grins from ear to ear, buzzing about what he’s going to have to eat. Sam should be telling him that he caused a huge fuss, that it’s not right how worried he had everyone…

But he just…

Can’t.

So they have dinner instead, and Dean has his pills.

He keeps smiling. That’s what matters in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you interested, we will be meeting Benny soon. :D


	9. See You On Monday!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a twitter account now. :D https://twitter.com/TigaEasy If any of you guessed that this was a second account, congratulations. XD Feel free to follow me and let me know your thoughts. :D I'm always happy to chat, just no spoilers. 
> 
> <3 
> 
> Also, I know this is shorter than the others but it works for what I was going with.

“So when are you seeing me next, Dean?” Sam asks, softening his eyes.

He can see that Dean’s having a hard time taking it all in, what with the talk he gave him about understanding that he can’t always be around him, that he’s not abandoning him when he walks out that door, that he keeps his promises and he will return on Monday to see him next, that while he understands why he had been so upset, kicking and screaming isn’t the answer. Dean took a lot of it on the chin, offering sheepish looks and watery eyes when Sam told him off, lightly, for how he spoke to Bobby and everyone else, making them worry and such. Getting the words out felt like chewing on broken glass, however, Sam knew that he had to push through, to get the point across that it’s not acceptable behaviour, regardless of how adorable he is.

Dean did have something to say about that, swaying from side to side as he said “You think ‘m adorable, Sammy?”, and Sam played it off like it wasn’t a big deal, getting back on topic before Dean could derail the conversation. His will almost vanished when Dean asked if he was a terrible person who did bad things, eyes welling up with tears as he hugged his knees to his chest after sliding down the wall.

Sam told him, “No, you’re not a terrible person, Dean. Not at all, and it kills me to have to tell you this, but you’re a big boy, so it’s only fair that I treat you like an adult, right?” Dean had nodded, sniffed a little and then stood up tall, puffing out his chest and putting on a stern face. Sam forced himself not to laugh and added, “I always come back the next day, don’t I? You see me the next day during the week?” Dean had nodded again. “So when it’s time for me to go home, I need you to remember that during the week, I’ll be there the next day, alright?”

“I’m sorry, Sammy. I just don’ like to see you leave,” Dean had told him, chest deflating as he grabbed Sam’s hand. The touching and extended contact would have to either be discussed at a later date or not at all. It will be hard enough convincing Dean not to have a fit whenever he goes home. “Mommy said she’d be right back. And then she didn’t come back and I was alone and sad and when I see you leave it’s like that and it hurts and—”

“Breathe, buddy,” Sam had soothed, squeezed the hand in his and allowed Dean to hug him. He could have figured that Dean’s Mom abandoned him, but hearing it from Dean himself stung. “Give me a chance to prove to you that I’m not like your Mom. When I don’t turn up one day, you’ll have every right to call me out on it. How does that sound?”

Dean had stared into his eyes for a long moment, searching for something, years of abandonment, hurt, anger, confusion reflecting off his stunning green eyes, a tortured soul crying out for help, for someone to understand and love him for who he was. It broke Sam’s heart, again, and he contemplated tracking her down and showing her what she was responsible for, and how her loss was everyone else’s gain because Dean was a gem.

“What does _call me out_ mean, Sammy?” Dean had asked, puzzled. Sam explained it the best way he knew how. “Okay… Hmm… So I get to call you a liar, liar, pants on fire?!” he had questioned excitedly, a broad grin on his face.

“Sure. Something like that,” Sam had agreed, and then proceeded to watch a couple of films with Dean in the communal room until it was time to call it a night.

That’s where they are now, Sam waiting with bated breath for Dean’s response. They allowed him to walk with Sam to the reception, wait while he signed out and stand with him by the doors. Sam had to prompt Dean to acknowledge Katie, which he did do overly politely before setting his eyes back on Sam.

“I’m seeing you on Monday,” Dean replies, relieving the tension in Sam’s chest. “And if you don’t show up, I get to tell everyone you’re a liar, liar who lies.”

“That you do.”

“See you on Monday, Sammy,” Dean says, hugs Sam soft and sweet and then steps away with his hands behind his back and his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “I’ll miss you.”

Sam smiles fondly, waves to Katie to let him out and then walks out of the building, feeling rather victorious when Dean doesn’t start screaming the place down or pounding on the windows, crushed a few seconds later when the sound of glass vibrating has him spinning on his heel, only to see Dean smiling far too bright for 10 P.M.

“Drive safe, Sam! I can’t wait to see you on Monday!”

All he can do in return is wave dumbly and walk faster to his car, heart racing in his chest, warmed all over. He folds himself into his car and breathes a heavy, choking sigh, starting the car with a flick and putting it in reverse. Dean’s watching him from the window the entire time, smile not fading from his face, hands sliding him further along the glass as Sam veers out of view.

On the drive home, he feels like a winner.

*  
Sam jolts awake in bed, breathing ragged. He blinks the last flashes of his nightmare away, Dean stubbornly refusing to vacate the Wellbeing Center while it’s on _fire,_ screaming to anyone that will listen that Sam said he would be there to see him on Monday at their usual time, so he’s not moving until Sam turns up, a cloud of dark, thick, toxic smoke slowly but surely hiding him away from view. The clock on the wall read 10 A.M, so Dream-Sam wouldn’t have gotten there for another five hours. By that time, Dean would have…

Sam slaps a hand over his mouth. He doesn’t want to think that. He can’t. There’s not a chance he’ll survive it. His fingers come back sweaty when he checks his pulse. He wonders how long he’s been in that state, how long the dream-verse forced him to watch a situation he could do nothing about, trapped in the void as an unwilling participant to the demise of Dream-Dean.

Beneath the sheets, Sam’s stomach gurgles in warning, and he has just enough time to dash to the bathroom. He heaves and heaves, the acidic smell of sick spurring on another round of bile and small chunks of food, which alerts Charlie to his distress. She rushes into the bathroom with him, one hand keeping his hair back while the other smoothes over his spine, easing him through the next couple rounds of violent puking that leave his throat burning and tears stinging his eyes.

“Dude, are you okay?” Charlie asks after five minutes of Sam spitting bile into the toilet.

His head feels like it’s on fire and his stomach is about ready to fall out of his ass by the time he raises his head and flushes the toilet. He pulls himself up to the sink, wets his hands, his face, his neck, slurps some water and ponders whether he should rinse his mouth out with mouthwash. What if he takes a swig and then throws up again? Is it even worth it?

After a beat, he decides it’s worth the risk. If he’s going to talk to Charlie about this, he doesn’t want her slowly backing away until she’s halfway to the other side of the house by the time he’s finished his first sentence. Also, bile rots the teeth faster than full-fat coke will.

He gargles for a full minute, fully aware that she’s staring at him like his head is about to do a 360turn like in _The Exorcist._ Once he’s done, he spits, wipes his mouth, washes his hands thoroughly in the sink and then wordlessly walks back to his room, knowing that she’ll follow him without anything needing to be said.

Sam sits on the edge of his bed with caution, thrilled that his stomach isn’t looking for a repeat performance. He hasn’t been sick like that since he tried a shroom in college. One of the worst mistakes of his life. Sometimes, he can still feel how dry his mouth had been after the high ended. It was disgusting. The trip had been okay, though—perhaps a bit too R-rated, but Sam’s not getting into that.

A throat clearing reminds him that he’s supposed to spill his guts. Sam’s half-tempted to leave it until an appropriate time in the morning. It is 4 A.M, after all, on a freaking Sunday. Charlie’s face tells him that she can stay up as long as it takes, and he’s not convinced that she’s gone to bed yet, so it would be foolish for him to test her.

“I had a nightmare,” he says, a cold chill settling in his veins. “Dean, he… The building was on fire and he wouldn’t leave because he was supposed to meet me at 3 P.M.”

“Oh… So he’s very literal?”

“Yeah. It’s cute, but…”

“Dangerous?” Charlie provides.

“Exactly. And he’s stubborn,” Sam adds, shaking his head with a fond smile. “You should have seen his room earlier. It looked like a bomb went off in there.”

“Did he tidy up?”

Sam glances at her.

“Probably? I don’t know. There was no way I was getting him to leave my side just to tidy his room.” She makes a face like she gets it, taking a seat on the bed next to him, one leg tucked underneath her. “I did tell him he needed to clean up his mess though, which he said he would do since Ellen told him if he makes the mess, it’s his responsibility to clean it up.”

“The woman takes no prisoners. My kind’a gal,” Charlie says, nodding. “You did say he can take care of himself.”

“He can,” Sam agrees, that tone of pride carrying his voice again. “He has asked me to wash him a couple of times. But I’m pretty sure he’s just saying that for… Y’know.”

“Because you’re his future husband.”

Sam sends her a warning glare, which she’s unaffected by.

“Yeah… _that,”_ he laments, discomfort settling into his skin. “Katie told me he needs a day out to go ring shopping like a _good future husband_.”

Charlie laughs at that, heat rising in her cheeks at the same time. “That’s just _too_ cute, Sam,” she groans, sighing like it’s his fault. “Where is he getting all this husband stuff from, though?”

“Oh, Benny’s apparently a gentleman, and has been teaching Dean to be one, too, so he knows enough about how to _woo_ someone.”

“And that someone is you?”

Sam purses his lips.

“Apparently.”

“And what was it you said to him?” Charlie prods. Sam glares at her harder. “Oh, come on. Just tell me again.”

“I said,” Sam starts, flushing. “I said he couldn't kiss me because we’re not married.”

“ _Right_.” She hums and nods, as if he just reminded her. “So, fall wedding? June wedding? Spring time—”

“Shut up, Charlie,” Sam snips, huffing out a breath. “We’re _not_ getting married.”

“But he’s so cute and he wants to get you a ring like a good future husband!” she exclaims, gesturing in a way that says he’s clearly not getting it. “I mean, I’m kiddin’, but still. That shit is cute as hell.”

Sam can agree to that. That doesn’t mean it isn’t inappropriate to even think about it. It violates so many codes of ethics Sam’s not even sure where to begin. Aside from that, Sam’s not sure if he ever wants to get married to… anyone. It’s not something he’s ever considered. Is that because he didn’t have the time, the patience, the belief in himself that he’d be good enough for someone to devote committing the rest of their life to? Sam doesn’t know. Maybe it’s something he’ll consider. In the future. When he’s more stable.

That works.

They chat for a while longer. Charlie finally goes to bed, leaving him to attempt to get back to sleep. He does, and this time he dreams about Dean agonizing over which ring to get him at the ring shop, freaking out that he doesn’t know the width of Sam’s finger.

He has to admit Charlie’s right. It’s cute as hell.

*

Dean didn’t get to see Sammy yesterday and it sucked. Really sucked. Really, really, really sucked. He hated it. He wanted to see Sam but he remembered that Sam told him that he would see him on Monday and that he shouldn’t cause a fuss because it’s not fair to the others. So Dean didn’t. He did what Sammy told him because he wants Sam to see him on Monday and be proud of him, give him big smiles with dimples and hug him.

Dean played with his toys and thought about Sam. He had his dinner and thought about Sam. He washed himself and thought about Sam. He dressed himself and thought about Sam. He took his pills and thought about Sam. He thought about Sam a lot because Sam is cool and he’s nice to Dean and he’s sweet and teaches him words like pon–pontifa–pontificate, but Dean forgot what it means because Sammy was blushing when he told him and it was really cute.

He’s thinking about Sam as he hums a tune to himself, watching the door. Always watching the door. Kat-litter smiles at him when he looks over. He smiles back, tells her he’s waiting for Sammy like he said he would and she tells him she can see that, not long now.

It’s not long now. Dean knows that. He’s been watching the clock pretty much the whole time. Five more minutes and Sam will be here and he can hug him and tell him how much he missed him. Can’t kiss him though. They’re not married so he’s not allowed. Benny says one day Dean will find that special someone. Dean thinks it’s Sam.

_Twitch, twitch. Fidget, fidget. Squirm._

No, he knows it’s Sam. Sam makes his heart go crazy and he can hear it in his ears and he can’t stop smiling. Sammy is cute and handsome and has pretty hair and a pretty smile and Dean doesn’t want anyone else to know what it’s like to hold his hand or hug him.

_Scratch, scratch._

He gets mad thinking about it. Mad and his chest hurts and he stops smiling. It’s weird. He doesn’t get it. Doesn’t get why it stings or what it is but he did the same thing when Benny started seeing Andrea. It’s cool now. She’s cool. She’s nice to Dean and brings him chocolate and donuts, tells him not to tell Benny she’s feedin’ him so much sugar and he crosses his heart for her and she smiles at him.

Andrea has a nice smile. But not as nice as Sammy’s.

*

“Sammy! I missed you so much!” Dean screams before Sam’s even fully through the door. Sam braces his legs this time for the impact, breath whooshing out of him as he’s lifted off the floor just as effortlessly as the times before and Dean swings him around again and again, moving them over to where Katie looks more like a blurred image than a person, the room spinning in Sam’s vision. He’s far too happy to see Dean, too, to even care. “I was good on Sunday, right, Kat-litter?! I was so good, Sammy. I didn’t cause a fuss and I took my pills and I said sorry to Bobby and everyone and I waited for you.”

Sam steadies himself on his feet, accepting Dean’s arms coiling around him as a head pillows on his chest. Dean does little bounces as he hugs him, excited noises falling out of his mouth as he presses as close as he possibly can. Sam looks to Katie for affirmation. She nods her head with a fond smile, gesturing with a pointed finger to the sign-in sheet.

“I’m so proud of you, Dean,” Sam tells him and Dean nearly squeals, bouncing with more energy than Sam can begin to comprehend, resting his hands on Sam’s shoulders to give him more room to jump higher and grin like a maniac. He looks a little like a puppy that’s so excited to see their owner they’re practically about to wet themselves. God, he hopes Dean doesn’t do that, but he’s warmed by the look of unabashed glee to see him in his eyes. “Did you tidy your room?”

Dean nods so hard it must hurt. “I did clean my room. Cas said he wanted to do it for me but he’s not allowed. I don’t get what it means, though. Can you tell me what pon-ti-fi-cate means , Sammy? I forgot!” Sam can’t help but be impressed that he remembered how to say it.

“Good man. Sure, Dean. Do you remember how I showed it to you?”

Dean taps his chin with one hand and grabs Sam’s hand with the other, a cheeky grin on his face.

“You did a British accent. I remember. And you pretended you had glasses!”

“That’s right, I did, and do you remember what I said?”

“You said you had to do it like that because _talking like a snob_ works better with their accent, right?”

Sam signs his name and smiles at Katie in greeting before letting Dean lead him to the communal area.

“That’s right, I did. So what does it mean then, Dean?”

For a while, Dean hums to himself and swings their arms back and forth, and Sam checks the place for damage, glad to see that there’s nothing out of the ordinary. He smiles at a few of the patients, wondering if Dean’s taps to his shoulder are a means to keep his attention on him. It’s not the best result, but it’s better than what it was so Sam’s not going to complain, not even as Dean leads them to _their spot,_ where he already has a box of toys set up and ready to play with.

He should make more of an effort to insist to Dean that he needs to be there for the other patients as well. Unfortunately, he figures that that’s something he’s going to have to build up to since he’s already sprung one thing on him that upset him. Adding more fuel to the fire will have the opposite effect. Besides which, unless Katie is lying for Dean, he was good yesterday so he deserves some playtime if that’s what he wants.

“It’s…, um… I think it’s…” Dean starts scratching his arm, getting frustrated because he can’t think of how to phrase it. Sam gently lifts his hand away, a pointed look telling him to give it a rest. Dean nods determinedly, eyes wide and thoughtful, lips parted, chin set. “It means that… something—something said snobly!” he exclaims, pumping his fist in victory.

Sam grins at him.

“ _Snobbily,_ but yes. That’s right! High-five,” Sam replies, and Dean beams at him as they slap hands.

Sam thinks it’s going to be a good day.

*

When Sam had to leave on Monday, Dean came with him to the door again, said his goodbyes and watched him drive off in his car. He did the same thing on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Sam couldn’t be more proud that each day he turned up for his shift, Katie agreed with Dean that he was good and didn’t cause a fuss.

The only problem that Sam’s having now is Dean insisting that he just needs one more minute or conveniently needs the bathroom when it’s time for Sam to go and talks to him from the other side of the door. Sam’s not convinced he’s actually using the toilet, but Dean’s getting craftier because he puts the sink on and uses the hand drier, shouting over the noise so Sam can hear him. Then he walks as slowly as he possibly can like on the first day, pointing out random things that don’t matter at all, like a chip in the wall that’s apparently been there for ten years. No one knows why it’s there. Dean’s just _fascinated_ by it, though, making up stories about someone racing across the floor on a spinning chair and crashing into the wall.

He goes on to say how fun that would be. He asks if Sam will get him a spinny chair and Sam tells him it’s too dangerous. Dean says he can push Sam on it, it’ll be like a rollercoaster or something and he’ll go _so_ fast. As nicely as he can, Sam declines the offer, tells him that Missouri wouldn’t appreciate it. Dean nods at that, biting his lip and finding something else to postpone Sam’s leaving.

Near to the door, he makes up an excuse that he needs to tie his laces. He’s not wearing laced shoes. Sam really shouldn’t indulge him, however, he joins in on the fantasy as Dean sings the Spongebob Squarepants shoelace-tying song in a whispery voice.

It’s really… _sweet,_ what Dean’s doing. Sam appreciates it a lot… Everyone likes to feel needed, after all. He doesn’t have anywhere he needs to be, so he can let him drag it out even if he should discourage this sort of behaviour.

Dean finishes _tying his laces_ and offers to tie Sam’s for him. Sam says no, thank you and tells Dean that it’s not necessary, casting his eyes over to the door. Dean immediately starts thinking of another plan to keep him there longer, but he’s got nothing by the time they’re at the last hurdle.

Sam feels bad as Dean sighs dejectedly, wraps his arms around him, embraces him so gently that he feels like a cloud, wishes him a safe journey, tells him he’ll see him on Monday with sadness thick in his voice and then takes a couple of steps back. Sam understood after the first day that he puts his hands behind his back to stop himself from reaching out again.

As soon as Sam’s on his way back home, he feels like a piece of him is missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Benny is in the next chapter :D 
> 
> You're not ready for the schmoop that is about to hit you in the face. Benny loves Dean so much it's actually disgusting.


	10. I Giggled Because it Jiggled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter you've all been waiting for! These two love each other so much it's ridiculous. I had to take breaks because of all the love in the room, seriously. XD 
> 
> I did have a lot of fun writing this! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! :D 
> 
> Come chat to me or follow me on twitter for previews of upcoming chapters and daily doses of J2/Wincest: https://twitter.com/JackleConda

“You know the drill, right, darlin’?”

Andrea rolls her eyes, not unkindly, flashing him a small smile as she leans back from the embrace, affection for him and his little brother exuding through the glow on her face. Benny embraces the swell of her belly, sweeping his thumbs with fondness. Unconditional love attacks him from all angels whenever the little angel growing inside Andrea’s womb kicks out at him, letting him know that they’re aware that their Daddy is there. It’s a feeling he’s still not accustomed to… When he’s the _actual_ Father of the child, though he would be lying if he said he didn't experience the same rush of fierce love and protectiveness whenever he sees Dean’s face or thinks about him or hears his voice.

The reminder quirks up the corners of his lips, eyes softening further as he holds blossoming life in his hands while envisioning the face of the person he holds in his heart.

Love has different forms. Andrea is the woman of his dreams. Benny loves her to the moon and back, would kill for her, sacrifice for her, beg, borrow and steal—all of the things that he needs to maintain in order to stay out of the dog house or be assigned to the couch for however long it takes to get back in her good graces. That’s all true, and Benny believes that she returns those feelings for him, but Dean is…

Dean is precious to him. He’s someone Benny would gladly kill for, not obligatorily. He's someone Benny wouldn’t hesitate to take every hit for. Every bullet. Every stab. Every claw. Rock, glass, slap, punch, kick—anything to keep him out of harm’s way. To keep him safe… Innocent.

The thought of Andrea in any of those states makes him angry. The thought of _Dean_ in any of those states makes him see red, veins bulging out all over his body livid, throat so tight he can barely breathe furious, rage so prevalent his body shakes with it. Those feelings terrify him, shock him to his core, but he can’t help himself. Dean is strong and could crack skulls with little effort, yes. That doesn’t stop Benny from thinking of him as fragile, someone that needs a protector… Someone to shield him from the bad and keep the smile beaming on his face.

Benny has been that person from day one of meeting Dean.

Their first engagement is something that Benny will never forget. He had been sixteen at the time, already looking for jobs so that he could move out of Ellen’s house, ready to go it alone, as they say. He tagged along with her to a foster home because he needed to use the car while she was away to get to a job interview, however, he agreed to accompany her inside first to see if she was still able to be seen that day. Ellen had been thinking about adopting another kid. May have had something to do with the aforementioned plans to leave the nest. This has never been confirmed.

Benny had taken a seat, snatched a magazine off the table, and read it while Ellen spoke to the receptionist. Things were quiet, at first. Occasional muffled voices would sneak through doors or echo down halls. Benny hadn’t paid much attention. _Until_ he heard Dean for the first time. It set off something inside him, like an instant connection established lifetimes ago setting back in, guiding him out of his seat and down the hall where the sound came from. 

His heart had been racing, practically in his throat by the time he opened the door, witnessing a younger Dean, equipped with the prettiest green eyes Benny had ever seen—probably will _never_ see a prettier pair—, pale skin, smatters of freckles, sunken cheekbones and skinny limbs. The kid had looked like he needed to eat. Badly.

He was being held back by four older-looking kids. One had stood in front of him, waving around what looked to be a Batman action figurine that appeared to be very important to Dean, who was screaming with tears in his eyes for them to give it back.

Benny had made the mistake of looking into those eyes, seeing the hurt… The pain… The innocence, the loss of _something,_ and he snatched the toy out of _leader’s_ hand without even thinking about it, shoved him out of the way, and demanded they let Dean go. He can’t speak to how he had looked at that moment, but the boys holding Dean had physically paled and scurried off like rats so he figures he hadn’t looked too cuddly.

Feeling like he _had_ to, Benny had approached Dean casually and handed him the Batman figure, asking if it belonged to him. Dean had nodded his head while staring at the ground shyly. Benny hadn’t liked him looking so defeated, so he told him Batman would want him to raise his head up high and be proud. He had no idea where it came from—the line—, he just _needed_ to see Dean standing tall, not hiding himself away.

Dean had wiped the tears from his eyes, taken his action figure back, raised his head, and then… He threw his arms around Benny, muffling thank you into his stomach, begged him to play action figures with him. And, unable to help himself, Benny allowed himself to be dragged off to some corner of the room where Dean had a whole battalion of toys set up for some scene he had in his head.

Benny had forgotten about his interview after the first time Dean smiled at him. His heart stopped for what felt like hours but was maybe a couple of seconds. It felt like he was being stabbed repeatedly with a rusted, blunt knife, while also being bathed in the most comforting cloud of euphoria imaginable. He had wanted to see Dean smile more, so he tried making him laugh, he engaged with his scenarios, exaggerating the responses and actions… Benny had smiled so much that first day his teeth, jaw, lips, and eyes ached for a full day.

Reluctantly, Benny had had to go back home with Ellen when she had finished with her appointment. He had been shocked to realise how he hadn’t wanted to leave Dean at all. Justified to himself that it was because of the bullies and not because he wanted to make Dean laugh more, see him smile more, keep him in high spirits and keep reminding him to eat because the loveable fool constantly forgot about his food.

Telling Dean he had to go had broken his heart, shattered it into microscopic pieces, small enough to travel on a gentle breeze, drifting miles apart and never to be fully healed. It happens every time he leaves him. It always hurts. It never gets better. And, even though he knows it’s irrational, he _hates_ himself that little bit more every time he says goodbye to Dean’s precious, sleeping face. The promise that he’s going to see him again means nothing… It won’t stop the nausea or the tears when he’s back in his car on the way home, desperate for next week to be there already.

When he did, Dean had looked crushed, which effectively destroyed any hope of Benny sleeping that night. And he hadn’t. Not a wink. He had lain awake all night thinking about Dean, getting him out of that foster home and here with him, Ellen and Jo. People that would love him, care for him, fight for him.

The next day, he asked Ellen if she had met Dean before, and if she had, what her thoughts were on him. She had told him that Dean was a truly kind soul with several issues. She said he was abandoned by his birth Mother with a disbelieving, rage-filled look on her face, shaking her head at the idea of any Mother abandoning their child like that. According to Ellen, Dean was overly affectionate and could be difficult to handle, especially when he became overwhelmed by loud noises and too many scents and smells, that he had broken a Foster Carers nose, busted a couple of lips, locked himself inside rooms when those instances had occurred, which was why it was recommended to potential adopters that they consider all risks before adopting him.

Benny had told her about his meeting with Dean, how the other kids had been bullying him, about how Dean had hugged him and they played action figures for a couple of hours. Ellen had stared at him with a knowing look on her face, asked him if there was a reason he was asking all of those questions. After a pause, Benny had confessed that he wanted her to consider adopting Dean. And, if she wouldn’t, how could he do it himself.

They had discussed it some more, Ellen weighing the pros and cons, looking deeply guilty that she had to in the first place, though Benny had understood. He had been a problem child before Ellen found him, after all. Constantly got in fights, hadn’t listened to anyone. Ellen and Jo showed him there was a life outside of being angry at something he couldn’t change, something that wasn’t his fault, and he was, and is, thankful that Ellen took it upon herself to bring him out of the darkness.

By the end of their talk, Ellen agreed to welcome Dean into their home. Benny had then started visiting Dean every day, without fail. The girl he was seeing wanted to spend time with him? _Not today, sugar. I’ve gotta see my little brother._ His friends wanted to have a few beers with him at their house? _You guys go ahead. I’ve got a hot date._ He hadn’t told them the _date_ was playing hide and seek with Dean for four hours, nor did he tell them that a minute with Dean was worth more than a hundred different nights drinking with them. Benny had been underage at the time, but what kid didn’t drink at sixteen, going on seventeen?

Each time Benny met with Dean, his heart grew a little bigger and then deflated two times as much when he had to go home for the night. Dean had started begging the Carers to let Benny stay longer, let him stay the night so they could have a sleepover together and play games all night. Benny had wanted to. He felt like every time he left the home, something bad happened to Dean. He would fidget, appetite lost as he thought about Dean being cornered again.

Everyone, after a couple of weeks, knew _not_ to mess with Dean. If they did, Benny would find a way to get to them that wouldn’t lose him his privileges of seeing Dean.

After four months of visiting Dean every day, the paperwork and groundwork were all finalised and Benny got to bring Dean home with him. He had kissed the top of his head when they first got to the house and said _welcome home, brother._ And Dean had stared up at him with this smile that knocked Benny for six, forcing his arms to curl around him and hold him close to his body, protecting him from anything and everyone.

The first night, Dean had refused to sleep in his room, made himself comfortable on Benny’s bed, and showed no signs of leaving. Benny hadn’t really known what to do. He was on the cusp of seventeen then, and Dean was closer to nine than he was to eight. Even if Benny knew he hadn’t— _doesn’t—_ harbour any untoward feelings for Dean, the idea of sleeping in the same bed with him had still made him uncomfortable.

But then Dean asked him to cuddle him and he was a slave to those eyes, tucking Dean’s head under his chin before he could stop himself, folding his arms around him like a barricade against everyone else. Dean only ever slept in his bed once the entire ten years he had lived with them. Even if Benny was out somewhere else, Dean would sleep in Benny’s bed, scream all night for him to come back and Benny would want to jump off the nearest cliff when he witnessed the pain and suffering in Dean’s eyes from crying for him all night.

One time seeing that had been enough. He dealt with his _urges_ during the day after that, never once allowing himself to be out past a certain time, or he would take Dean with him and give him something to play with while he got busy in the other room. If the girl complained, he would leave with Dean immediately. He had _no_ _time_ for anyone that didn’t appreciate Dean or understand why he needed to tag along.

They came as a package deal or they didn’t come at all. Dean came along with him or _they_ didn’t _come_ at all if you catch his drift.

And it continued like that. Benny took Dean everywhere with him. He hung out in the break room at work, and his boss was a lovely woman who understood that he needed to frequently check on him to make sure that he was alright. She even let it slide when he beat the shit out of a customer for calling Dean a freak. Dean hadn’t known that he was being insulted, but Benny had. And he told Dean to wait five minutes for him real quick, then he followed the asshole out of the restaurant, dragged him into the nearest alleyway, and pummelled him until he was a bloody mess.

When he returned to Dean, his little brother, was crying, screaming that he was scared Benny was being hurt, that he felt pain in his chest and he wanted to go home. Benny had rushed to him, wrapped him up in his arms and shushed him, kissing his temple multiple times and assuring him that he was fine and nothing bad was happening, that everything was good, he just had some business to take care of.

Dean had told him he didn’t like it when Benny hurt his fists, grabbed them and started cleaning the blood off with some tissues, told him to be more careful. He had kept telling Benny _no more, Benny! No more blood. I don’t like it! I don’t like it! Don’t like it!_ and Benny kept shushing him, glaring at anyone that was giving them odd looks.

He did the same at college, daring anyone to say anything when Dean sat on his lap while he read him stories. There is _nothing_ wrong with it. Dean sits far enough forward that he’s not… _that_ … and he likes it. It makes him happy, and Benny will do _anything_ to make that beautiful soul happy. He’s talking travel to the ends of the earth on horseback if that’s what Dean wanted him to do—if it would make him smile that breathtaking smile… just once more.

Besides, once Dean got older and was able to withstand Benny’s weight, he sat on Dean’s lap from time to time, too—whichever Dean wanted.

Everyone that knew them referred to Dean as his beautiful shadow. And they weren’t wrong. Dean followed him everywhere, hand in hand, sometimes on his back when he was tired and hadn’t wanted to walk anymore. Benny would pretend like he was being a real tool, however, smile anyway as he hoisted Dean onto his back and carried him for miles while he slept, all the way up until he turned seventeen and Benny tied the knot with Andrea, leaving the house, and him…

Benny hadn’t been sure he would ever love anyone else before he met Andrea, sitting alone on a filed of grass reading a novel, the wind blowing her hair around her face. Dean had been by his side, and she had noticed him first, instantly clocking onto the fact that he was different, and immediately choosing the best approach to talk to him. She had said _Well, hello there handsome. What’s your name?_ And Dean had hugged Benny’s back shyly, pressed right up against his ass but they all ignored that, peered around the side of his neck and told her his name was Dean.

They had all sat on the grass together, Andrea rightfully paying more attention to Dean, asking him all sorts of questions, acting amazed at the stuff he said, falling in love with him instantly. Everyone who had a heart fell in love with Dean. And Benny fell in love with Andrea while watching her interact with the person he loved the most in the world.

Then Benny and Andrea started meeting up more and more and Dean, bless him, got jealous of the attention Benny was giving her. He never admonished him for it because he didn’t know he was being mean when he pretended to be sick to get Benny to stay with him, or said that he didn’t like Andrea but couldn’t give a reason for it. If he had a valid reason for not liking her, regardless of his feelings, Benny would have dropped her without question.

Dean and Andrea are… Okay. Even though she loves Dean to pieces, he’s not reciprocal. He still hates when Benny brings her along to their visits, though he does ask about his little niece. Dean’s never cruel to Andrea… He just acts as if she’s not even there, dragging Benny down the street with him when they go for walks, as far away from Andrea as he can get him before she catches up, casting Dean a fond smile even though he’s being a little shit.

Andrea is nothing like Lucy.

Benny is a gentleman. Everyone who knows him will attest to that. Lucy, however, is a girl he came very close to putting his hands on, and the reason for that is because she told Dean that if… if he let her tug until cream came out, he would be big and strong like Benny was. He had walked in on her holding Dean’s cock in her hand, jerking him off, praising him the whole time… He had thought it was a game, that it would make him better like his idol, hero, best friend, awesome brother Benny. She had been twenty-four at the time. Dean had been on the cusp of fifteen. Needless to say, she was given _one_ warning to leave and never show her face around him again.

Andrea loves Dean, defends him _fiercely_ to anyone that says a bad word, but Dean hardly even acknowledges her because she occupies Benny’s time. He wants to tell him to stop being such a brat but he’s weak.

“Unless it’s an emergency, I can’t call you. That means I’m not allowed to text you throughout the day or snap you pics because Dean will get jealous. No contact from now until you’re on your way back, and no mentions, under any circumstances that you lied to Dean.”

Benny’s heart clenches.

“Sweetie, he would understand, I think… If you told him,” Andrea says compassionately, connecting her hands with Benny’s on her bump. “He always asks about her, you know… He would want to know about these things.”

“I know, sugar,” Benny replies, giving her a peck on the lips. “But I told him I had stuff to do on the boat… If he finds out I lied to him because you were bleedin’, he’ll be so upset.”

“You’re not giving him enough credit. He’s smarter than you think. You know that.”

“I know. He’s the best human on the planet.”

Andrea takes no offence.

“Yes, and so you should know you can talk to him about this stuff. He loves _her._ You know that.”

Benny smiles, feeling a little choked up. He does know that. Dean puts his hands on Benny’s stomach when he spoons him and says _My niece is here, right? In Andrea’s belly?_ And he tells Benny to make sure that she’s warm and that he’s giving her lots of hugs because he gives good hugs, and Benny tells him _Of, course, honey. Anything else you want me to pass along?_ which Dean laughs at, curling tighter around him, stating he’s going to be the best Father ever.

“I know, Andi… But I don’t know if he’ll feel the same once she’s here. I’ll still visit him but—”

“He’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. _We’ll_ be fine. Now, go on. I know you’re dying to race over to him, so don’t overstay your welcome.”

Benny doesn’t have to be told twice.

“You know I love you, Andi, right?”

“I know, but you love that ball of sunshine more than anyone and I’m okay with it, so long as you don’t run off with him.”

He pretends to think about it.

“No promises.”

“That’s what I thought.”

*

_Shake, shake, shake._

_Flush._

Dean watches the pee-water swirl and get swallowed up by the toilet. Out to the Ocean it goes, they tell him. He thanks the toilet and puts the seat down. Gotta put the seat down, Ellen says. Girls don’t stand, she tells him. It’s the boy's toilet but it’s better to keep up the habit or he’ll forget, they say.

Dean pulls his pants back up, puts _it_ away and goes to wash his hands. He hurries because he wants to get back to his spot waiting for Benny. He got too excited and needed to pee and he got to the bathroom before he wet himself.

Made mess last time. Didn’t wanna do it again. It makes him all red and mad with himself and he feels bad because Mr. Moppy cleans it up.

Dean nearly falls rushing to the towel. He dries his hands, thanks the sink—pauses, steps back to shut it off. Can’t leave it on, Dean. Could flood the place.

Dry and ready, he races out of the door and back to his spot.

“I washed my hands, Kat-litter. See?!”

He flashes his hands, waves them around.

“Wow! They’re so clean! Benny will be impressed.”

Dean’s heart goes super fast at that. “I like when Benny says _good job, brother_ and gives me high-fives!”

“I know you do. It makes you so happy, doesn’t it, Dean-o?”

_Nod, nod, nod, nod._

Dizzy.

“I can’t wait to see him. I miss him! I’m so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so excited!” Dean exclaims.

_Jump, jump, jump._

“I’m sure he’s missed you, too Dean-o,” Kat-litter says. She smiles at him and he smiles back.

Stumbles a little.

Dizzy.

Head rush.

“Sammy said I need to be on my best behavior for Benny because he’s been working hard,” Dean says, warm. Warm because he can hear Sam’s voice in his head. “And to remember to eat my meals and take my pills and rem-remem-ber that If I don’ cause a fuss I get five slices of pie!”

“ _Five_ slices? Aren’t you lucky?”

Dean grins, swings back and forth—lowers his head. “I am! Sammy is super awesome and I love him and one day I’ll ask him to marry me instead of bring me pie!”

Kat-litter looks weird again. Dean asks if she’s sick. She says no, she’s not sick.

“What are you going to do with Benny today, Dean-o?”

Dean starts bouncing again. _Bounce, bounce, bounce._ He tells her he wants to play hide and seek and action figures and he wants Benny to read to him and he wants to cuddle.

“Well, speak of the Devil,” Kat-litter says, smiles at the door.

_Turns. Looks. Runs._

Dean runs, puts his hands on the door. Jumps up and down, squealing. The doors are in the way! The doors are in the way of Benny.

He waits. He waits like waiting for Sammy to drive off. He bounces and taps the glass. Waiting. The doors not opening. Door! Door, open! Open right now! Dean turns his head to Kat-litter, eyes wet.

“Sorry, Dean-o, the button is stuck. Just a second, I promise.”

Dean stares through the glass. Benny puts his hands on the other side, smiles at him. It calms him. Stops bouncing, stares at him. Swallows. Keeps swallowing. He wants to hug him, lift him up, kiss his cheek!

“I missed you!”

*

Benny fights back the crippling urge to get in his car and drive through the door separating them. What’s stopping him is the reality that, regardless of how much he and Ellen put funds into this place, he’s not certain they would let it slide. Also, any risk to Dean is out of the question and the beautiful moron might not realise what’s happening in time. Benny would never be able to forgive himself if Dean got hurt, so, unfortunately, he has no other choice than to wait for Katie to get the door open.

Luckily, it doesn’t take that long, and Benny takes in a much-needed gulp of air, anticipating the moment the doors slide to and he’s embraced by strong arms, carried around the room like he’s not a fully grown, well-fed man, Dean telling anyone within earshot how much he’s missed him, how he’s been so patient waiting for him but needed to take a break to have a pee because otherwise, he would have made a mess.

Benny grins despite the protests from his head flopping back and forth, ears buzzing from the sharp turns. Eventually, Dean lets his feet touch the ground, however, doesn’t let go of him, kissing both Benny’s cheeks repeatedly, beaming so bright Benny’s heart jackhammers in his chest and he briefly forgets the English language.

Dean holds him close, groin to groin, arms bulging around him, cheek to cheek. He starts doing little bounces then, Benny jolting from the slight impact of each one but not willing to put a stop to it for love nor money. He’s reminded that Dean outgrew him at some point. Only by a small margin, but it’s still weird for him to be shorter than him when not too long ago Dean’s head barely even reached Benny’s chest.

“I missed you so much, Benny! Did you miss me? Kat-litter says you did. And Sammy says you missed me tons!” Dean goes on, and Benny’s brain finally remembers how to speak as he covers one of Dean’s cheeks with a palm, smiles reverently at him and strokes a thumb over the bone.

“Of course I missed you, brother,” Benny says, tucking Dean’s head under his chin and planting long, hard kisses on the top of his head, Dean’s body relaxing against him and sighing. He rocks him from side to side, swaying, a dance that he would never do with anyone else. “Every damn second, Dean. Every. Damn. Second.”

Dean softens his arms around Benny’s back, nuzzles into the embrace and sighs contently. “I wish I could’a seen you last week.”

“Me too, Deany,” Benny says, chuckling at the shudder of annoyance the nickname elicits. “Were you good for everyone?”

Dean shakes his head. “No. I was really bad. Really, really bad and I upset everyone and caused a big fuss.”

Hearing that makes his heart break that little bit more, imaging the pain Dean had been in. At the hospital, he could barely focus on what the Doctor was telling him about Andrea and the spotting because he was in full-on guilt mode for lying to Dean. If it had _just_ been the spotting, Benny wouldn’t have had to lie, but he promised Andrea that he would be there for the 20 week scan, which he was thrilled to be at, getting to see his little girl and all… It hadn’t been enough to stop him from wanting to bolt.

“But you apologized, right?”

Dean nods.

“I did! Sammy came and we played together and ate together and watched some movies and he told me that I needed to say sorry for worrying everyone,” he explains, and Benny senses the warmth of his tone around the name _Sammy_.

“Oh, yeah? Who’s Sammy?” Benny asks, taking Dean’s hand in his and walking up to the sign-in sheet. “Are they like Cas?”

Dean shakes his head.

“No. No, Sam is new here and he’s nice to me and doesn’t say I’m too much and he has pretty hair and eyes and mouth and face and he’s gonna be my husband someday,” Dean explains casually, like he didn’t _just_ tell Benny he’s both into a man named Sam, who apparently is a new member of staff here that he’s never heard of, and he’s allegedly going to marry him. “You told me that, right?! You said my wife will be someone that loves me for me and that makes me happy, right? Then Kat-litter told me that a man can’t be a wife so Sammy can’t be my wife but he can be my husband and when he’s my husband I can kiss him because I can only kiss someone I’m married to.”

Trying not to freak out on the outside, Benny softens his eyes and quickly signs in, offering Katie a warm smile and a tip of his hat before walking with Dean to the main-lounge area doors.

Dean pushes one side open for him, waving his hand in an exaggerated gesture. Benny ruffles his hair and pulls him in to kiss his temple, and Dean shakes his head out with a grin.

“So… Sam… Or Sammy said you’re gonna get married?”

“No! I haven’t said anything yet. Sammy is beautiful and sweet and really handsome so I have to do this right,” Dean states resolutely, for once seeming closer to his actual age of twenty-eight. “But I did say I can kiss him when he’s my husband!”

Benny swallows, thinks about what to say next. He offers a warm smile. “So you like men, huh? That’s… cool. Nothin’ wrong with that.”

“I like you, too and you’re a man,” Dean replies, like a smart ass. “But I don’t think it’s like it’s like with Sammy because his heart goes _ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump_ and then skips and he said it’s a magic trick that only happens around awesome people and my heart does it too, I think.”

“Do you…. Um,” Benny pauses, clears his throat. “Do you get excited around this Sam person? And does _he_ get excited around you?” He doesn’t think Sam is giving back to this fantasy of Dean’s from what he’s heard, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. And if Sam is doing anything to his little brother, he doesn’t have long left to live.

“Excited like when _it_ goes up and you tell me I need to let _it_ go back down before we can cuddle again?” Dean asks for clarification, steering Benny away from other patients seamlessly.

“Yeah. Like that,” Benny answers, a little uncomfortable.

“ _It_ gets, um, hard and stuff when I think about kissing Sammy and sometimes he’s naked and I have dreams and wake up and I’m all sticky.”

Benny stops, tightens his hold on Dean’s hand. “Sam’s been naked around you?”

Dean bites his lips, cheeks reddening. “Oh, no… I want him to, though. I ask him to shower with me but he says no, that I have to do that by myself and that he’ll wait for me to finish,” he admits, licking his lips. “I, um… I really wanna shower with him but he says _can’t see each other naked, Dean, gotta stop asking, Dean,”_ he recalls, laughing like it’s really funny when it’s kind of giving Benny a stroke.

Throughout their entire life together, Dean’s _never_ expressed any sexual interest in… _anyone._ Benny’s not ready to hear about him talking about wanting to get sexual with people. He doesn’t think he will _ever_ be ready for that. Dean’s twenty-eight. Yes. That’s true. And he’s not exactly small or anything in the penis department from what Benny has both seen and felt pressed up against his ass. He’s still more like a little kid… _His_ little kid brother, and suddenly he’s talking about wanting to see this Sam person naked and talking about his penis and Benny’s not equipped to deal with this.

He clears his throat again, shakes off the nerves.

“Dean, listen to me, all right?”

Dean turns his head, nods.

“If you want this Sam person to keep his job here, you can’t… You can’t do what you do with me, with him. We’re brothers and no matter how it looks, we know it’s not inappropriate, right?” Dean nods again, bites his lip. “I’m glad you like someone, Dean, I am… But can’t you just stay my innocent little brat until I die?”

“Sammy’s not allowed in my room,” Dean starts, opening his bedroom door. “It’s my Batcave and only you’re allowed in here with me, he says. And I’m not allowed to sit on his lap at mealtimes and I can’t kiss him or touch him places like _it_ and, and his big butt,” he lists, looking extremely miffed about the last one. “But I can hold his hand and give him hugs and I give him massages because he gets all stiff and I know how to do it because I do it for you!”

Dean is a master with his hands, Benny thinks, narrowing his eyes at a spot on the wall. “Above the waist, right?”

 _“Back, neck and shoulders only, Dean,_ Sammy says. Anywhere else would be too far, he tells me,” Dean explains, flopping down on his bed and opening up his arms. And, Benny, as if he’s under a spell, takes his top half off and curls up next to him on his side. Dean begins stroking his back like he always does, talking to the back of Benny’s head after slipping his own shirt off. “Can’t be his big spoon, too, which sucks because I wanna sleep with him really bad.”

Benny reminds himself that Dean literally means _sleep with_ and not the more popular use of that combination of words. He melts back against Dean, feeling the exhaustion of the drive over and the revelations making him all loose and sleepy.

Dean hums happily and continues to trail his fingers back and forth, stopping at the nape of Benny’s neck to work out a kink before continuing back down. “I definitely missed your magic fingers last week,” Benny confesses, paling slightly because now he’s not sure if Dean will interpret that in a sexual way.

He doesn’t, of course. “I know. You’re stiff, Benny. Need to stop stressin’,” Dean scolds him lightly, digging into his shoulder _just_ right to release the tension. “That’s better,” he declares, bringing Benny’s back flush against his chest, groin perfectly fitted to his ass. Oddly, despite finding out that Dean’s into men, Benny’s not suddenly put off by the meeting of his ass and Dean’s crotch. They are wearing bottoms, after all, and Dean’s never tried anything other than spooning with him.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Benny teases, bringing one of their connected hands up to kiss Dean’s knuckles softly. Dean laughs and squirms a little, nuzzling Benny’s neck. “You know how it is right now. Hard to relax, I guess.”

Dean tightens his hold briefly, raises a hand up to take Benny’s hat off, scritches his fingers through the short tufts, massaging his scalp. Benny makes a sound of contentment, body turning into a puddle under Dean’s masterful ministrations, breaths starting to even out before he even knows what’s happening.

“I love you, Benny. Let’s nap, okay?” Dean proposes, kisses the side of Benny’s neck, snuggles even closer and yawns.

Benny’s heart swells, eyes turning the slightest bit misty.

“Love you, too, squirt—and,” he pauses, yawning in return. “A nap sounds real good right about now.”

*

He’s woken up an hour later by Dean… poking him. Well, not poking him, exactly. More like, so hard the material of his jeans are practically riding the seam of his ass and Dean’s slotted right between it. His first thought is that Dean’s dreaming of Sam because, as far as Benny’s concerned, Sam’s the only person that has ever gotten him excited—unless it’s just general morning wood or whatever.

Benny does the usual, taps Dean’s arm until he stirs awake with an adorable sniffle and smacking of dry lips together.

“Oh no, _it’s_ poking you. ‘m sorry, Benny,” Dean says, understanding immediately and letting go so he can roll over and lie on it. “Sammy was naked in m’ dreams again and I got to grab his big butt and kiss ‘im,” he muffles into the pillow, and Benny turns over to make sure he’s not cutting off his oxygen. He strokes a hand down his back, a fond smile on his face. “His butt was so soft and bouncy and I giggled because it jiggled,” he adds and then lifts his head, turns it and grins in triumph. “That rhymed! DId you hear that?!”

Unable to help himself, Benny laughs along with him, trying not to encourage any more talk about Sam being nude or his ass.

“Well, once it’s down, how about we go and get some ice-cream? My treat.”

Dean forgets himself and dives for Benny, pinning him to the bed with his body weight while burying his face in his neck and squeezing him tight. He’s still hard. Except, now he’s hard and pressing into his hip. He must be _really_ into this Sam guy.

“I love ice cream! I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream,” Dean sings, rubbing his face against Benny’s sweaty neck. “You taught me that, remember?!”

Benny puts a hand at the back of Dean’s head and strokes his head. “Yeah, brother, I did. Now get off’a me because _it’s_ still up and I need to get my shirt back on.”

Without needing to be told twice, Dean gets off of him after a quick sorry and a hard kiss to both cheeks. He leans back and Benny averts his eyes when the thick crown comes into view as Dean tucks it between his navel and waistband, rolling off of Benny to grab his shirt and cover himself up.

Once they’re both decent and Dean’s changed into something more outdoorsy, Benny leads them out of the building, Dean practically losing his shit as he squeals excitedly, shaking Benny’s arm, poking him, prodding him, leaning on his back, kissing his cheek, neck and the side of his mouth as they walk to the car.

Dean likes being outside.

He doesn’t get to go out enough.

When they’re in the car, Dean takes the hand he doesn’t use for driving, squeezing it in excitement as they drive away from the Centre for a short while, green eyes alight with wonder and delight, staring out of the window, smiling and waving at all the people that he passes. Benny steals glances at him on multiple occasions, reminded every time with one big smile why he always comes back, why he’ll never stop looking out for him, why he’ll always come first.

Not much later, he puts the car in park and tells Dean they’re here. Dean tumbles out of the car, running around to the other side to open the door for Benny before he even has the chance to grab the handle. He did teach Dean to be a gentleman after all.

They walk hand in hand, talking all the while about everything and nothing. Benny ignores the odd looks that they get, especially when Dean gets on his back and screams _onwards! To victory!_ at the top of his lungs, scaring the nearby birds. Benny blocks out the weight of him, telling his back and shoulders that Dean will fix him up later if it gets that bad, that he needs to still be able to do this for him.

At the ice cream shop, Dean buzzes uncontrollably, asking for one of each of every flavour, and Benny would have given him that if it wouldn't have made him sick, so he tells him he can have six scoops of different flavours. Dean takes his time choosing them, asking all sorts of questions to the lady server, who looks like she’s in love after three minutes of speaking to Dean, going so far as to tell other customers to go somewhere else if they’re not willing to wait for him to make his choices.

Benny offers her a grateful smile, arm around Dean’s shoulders as he taps his chin with his index finger, humming, hovering the tip over a choice and then crossing his arms over his chest, telling the server lady that Sammy makes him choose which pie to have and he would rather just eat all of them but then he might hurt his teeth so only one for him, which she swoons at, heart looking like it’s about to break through her sizeable chest.

“Who’s Sammy?” she asks kindly, and Benny stiffens a little.

“He’s my future husband,” he answers honestly. “He’s pretty and super tall and nice and has cool hair and he’s awesome.”

“He must be awesome if he hangs out with you,” she replies, winking at him.

Dean preens, squirming a little and leaning back into Benny’s hold, who’s now behind him because he doesn’t like that more than half the people in here are objectifying his brother. “He is _so_ cool. He’s the bestest!”

Benny snorts at that. “Excuse you, Dean?”

“You’re the bestest, too,” he placates, and Benny’s surprised by the twinge of jealousy in his question. “You’re my bestest, awesome brother and Sammy is my bestest future husband,” Dean states airily and then finally makes his first choice, which eventually leads to all six. “I’d like those six, please and thank you very much, beautiful lady,” he tells the lady server, turning his head for Benny’s approval that he did it right. And, instead of answering, Benny squeezes him and kisses his cheek instead.

The lady looks like she’s having a mini heart attack, throat clearly working to keep down squeals and coos because Dean is utterly adorable and no one can tell him otherwise.

“You’re very, very welcome,” she replies, red-faced as she starts getting the scoops ready, Dean beaming at her the whole time, licking his lips eagerly. Benny watches to make sure her infatuation is innocent, eyes like hawks trained on her, assessing the warmth. He’s pretty sure that she’s a Mother who loves her kids and Dean melts anyone’s heart, but it doesn’t hurt to be vigilant.

Once Dean has his ice cream, Benny orders a standard strawberry one which Dean calls him lame for, however, takes a lick of it anyway. They both thank the server lady again, Dean blowing her a kiss like Benny showed him once and it kind of stuck. She catches it and places it on her heart which is actually pretty sweet. Benny wonders if she’s going to faint the minute they’re out of view, but it’s not his problem anymore.

They walk hand in hand with their icecreams again. Benny contemplates giving Dean information on the baby, hemming and hawing over it in his head for a while. He decides against it, not wanting anything to potentially ruin their day. So they find a quiet spot on a field of grass and Dean leans his head on Benny’s shoulder while he eats his ice cream, somehow managing not to drip any on him which Benny is grateful for.

Finished with their icecreams, they let it settle for a few minutes and then Benny suggests that they play hide and seek. Dean points to the big area full of trees and blindspots and Benny tells him not a chance in a nice way, steering him towards a park that they can play in instead, Dean laughing before they even begin and then full-on guffawing when Benny starts counting, listening to the footsteps rushing off in the distance.

He counts loudly so that Dean can hear him, knowing that he’s going to have to pretend Dean’s not giving his hiding spot away because he can’t keep the giggles in. Benny puts on a decent show, acting like he’s really lost Dean, that he has no idea where he is even though he can see his hair peeking out from behind the slide and he keeps laughing.

“Where oh were could my little brother be?” Benny interrogates the air, humming to himself. “Well, he’s not under here… He’s not over here… He’s not here, so where is he, I wonder,” Benny lists off, scratching his head in confusion. “Who knew you were so good at hiding, Deany.”

Dean sniggers from his spot, and Benny can imagine him covering his mouth with his hand and passing from foot to foot.

After a few more minutes, Benny pretends that he’s given up, waits for Dean to peek around the slide and then grabs him from behind, tickling his sides until tears are streaming down his face from laughing so hard.

“Gotcha,” Benny says with a grin, ruffles Dean’s hair and hugs him from behind, swaying them for a minute. “As if I’d ever lose you, huh?”

Dean huffs playfully. “I thought you weren’t gonna find me and then you did,” he replies, turning in Benny’s arms and squeezing him right against him. “Your turn to hide, Benny!”

Nodding, Benny waits for Dean to get into position, reminding him not to peek as he finds an open spot to _hide_ in, not really planning on being missing for too long because Dean gets nervous after a couple of minutes of no success.

He smiles fondly in Dean’s direction, adjusts his hat and hangs tight for the inevitable.

“Eight… Nine… Ten… Eleven… Twelve… Thirteen… Fourteen… Fifteen! Ready or not, here I come, Benny,” Dean shouts eagerly. Benny hears his feet scuffle and then suddenly stop dead in his tracks, a flash of panic shooting through him. “Sammy! Sam! Sammy! Sam! It’s me, Dean! I’m out with, Benny! Sam!”

Benny abandons his hiding spot immediately, worry heavy in his gut as he watches Dean _sprint_ like he’s never seen him do before, darting off towards a very _tall_ man about a hundred or so meters away, looking a little shocked but also pleased that Dean is barrelling towards him.

“Dean!” Benny calls out, but it’s like Dean can’t even hear him, feet pounding the floor until he’s snatching this Sam person up in his arms and twirling them around like he does with Benny. He feels another small pang then, choosing to ignore it as he watches Sam’s reactions, focusing on every single detail, not fully convinced yet that Sam isn’t a threat.

Throughout the lift-off and rotations, Sam kept his hands at his sides, not using them until Dean’s head tucked under his chin like it belonged there and Sam’s long arms curled around him protectively, sweetly, adoringly.

And then Dean turns his head and shouts, “Benny, this is my future husband, Sammy!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, it will continue on from this point in Sam's POV. 
> 
> What did you guys think? Is it what you were thinking? How do you think Benny is going to react to meeting Sam for the first time? What do you think Sam will think of Benny? Do you think Dean will sense any tension at all? XD 
> 
> If you liked this chapter, please let me know what you thought about it. It really does help during the writing process when I think about readers getting all excited for the next update, and it's always lovely to hear from people. 
> 
> I'm open to criticism, though I do ask that it be kept constructive.
> 
> I will be replying to my comments soon!
> 
> Love, Kieran.


	11. Oh, No, Did He Hear All That?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the month-long wait! If you follow me on Twitter, you will have seen that I get easily distracted, and also work on multiple things at a time. XD So... I apologise for being so scatterbrained!
> 
> Thank you so much for all of the wonderful comments. It really does mean the world to me. They're in my head while I write the next paragraph and motivate me to spend that little bit of extra time going over what I'm saying so that I can do my story justice. :D 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy the latest chapter! ^^

“What are you doing here, Dean?” Sam asks, ignoring the part about being Dean’s _future husband,_ again.

Dean beams up at him and starts jumping up and down, regaling him with his trip to the ice cream shop, and how Benny brought him out for the day. At the mention of Benny, Sam chances a glance at the man, feeling oddly undressed by his stare, as if he’s being dissected on the spot, assessed in a way that’s foreign to him.

There’s an undercurrent to the look, his sins being laid bare for Benny to pick through and find a reason to tear Dean out of his arms, tuck him back into his side and never release him back to the world. Sam understands it. He meets his eyes, resolve firm as Dean continues to jostle him while he speaks, body braced for impact, arms flailing about wildly as Dean lifts them up and down from their attached hands.

Sam makes a face then. A fond one, with a head tip in Dean’s direction, a smile on his lips. The crease between Benny’s eyes softens out, the man approaching the two of them, stopping a pace or two to the side of Dean, eyes still on Sam’s.

“So, you’re Sam.”

It’s a statement, not a question.

“Apparently,” Sam replies, letting Dean play with his fingers. “You’re the great Benny.”

“The great Benny, huh?”

“All this guy talks about is how great and awesome you are. I also hear you give great hugs.”

Benny crosses his arms over his chest, head dripped, a smile playing on his face. “Is that right?”

“Sam? Hey, Sammy? Sam? Sam? Sam? Sam? Sammy? Sam?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Hi,” Dean says, biting his bottom lip. “I missed you. Did you miss me?”

“Always,” Sam tells him, allowing another hug while Dean cheers. Then, he puts space between them. “But you’re out with Benny, so you should probably go back to whatever you were doing, right?”

Dean shakes his head.

“No. You can come and play with us. We were playin’ hide’n’seek, and it was my turn to find Benny. Benny says I’m the best at it!” Without giving Sam a chance to accept or decline, Dean starts dragging him towards the park they were playing in. “We can hide together and Benny can find us. It’ll be so fun, Sammy.”

At that, Sam shakes his head. “This is your day with Benny, Dean. You didn’t get to see him last week.”

“Benny doesn’t mind. He’s awesome,” Dean replies resolutely, head-turning to smile at Benny before he backtracks to snatch his hand too and pulls them both along.

“You might as well cancel whatever plans you had,” Benny says to Sam, eyes beaming with pride as he looks at Dean. He puts a hand on top of Dean’s head and ruffles his hair, which earns him an indignant cry of his name. “Little Deany has always been a stubborn brat.”

“I’ll find us the best hidin’ spot, Sam. Benny’ll never find us,” Dean declares proudly.

“Or, you can count with Benny and I’ll hide,” he suggests, nodding in agreement with the other man. And before Dean can kick up a fuss, he adds, “If you find me first, I’ll let you have two slices of pie instead of one on Monday.”

“Does that mean if _I_ find you first, I get his pie instead?” Benny teases, which has Dean letting both of their hands go to cross his arms over his chest and huff.

“Benny doesn’t get to have my pie! It’s my pie. My special pie that Sam buys for me,” he explains, grumbling under his breath.

Benny wraps him up in a backward hug and starts tickling his sides until Dean is squirming and laughing his heart out. Hearing the sound has Sam weak in the knees, warmth spreading through him. He almost clutches the material of his shirt around where his heart rests inside his body, but he stops himself, watching on with joy as Dean tackles Benny to the ground, tickling him back, stopping when Benny cries Uncle.

After Benny kisses the top of Dean’s head sweetly, who kisses his cheek in return, those shamrock green eyes that haunt Sam’s dreams turn on him, mischief apparent in their depths, darting around his body in search of weak spots.

Having apparently clocked on to Dean’s next move, Benny prompts Dean to help him up, then guides him over to a spot by a bench.

“But I want to count with Sammy,” Dean reminds Benny, giving him a look that would probably make Sam kill a man if that’s what Dean wanted.

“Sam needs to see how good you are at this, Deany. And think about the pie.”

“I do like pie.”

“I know you do.”

“But I also _really_ like Sammy,” he _whispers,_ trying to be conspicuous, however, failing quite spectacularly at it.

Benny _whispers_ back, “I _really_ like Sammy, too.”

Right after the words leave Benny’s lips, Dean’s face twists in cute annoyance and he shakes his head rapidly. “No, you don’t! Not like I do. Not like Andrea!”

“Maybe I’ve changed my mind. Maybe Sam’s supposed to be my Andrea.”

“Not funny, Benny. Not funny or cool or awesome or, or, or… It’s not funny!”

“You’re so cute when you’re jealous,” Benny replies, getting him in a loose headlock. For a few beats, Dean fights it then relaxes. “I was messin’ with ya’, Dean. Sam is a handsome fella, but he’s not my Andrea.”

“He is handsome. Really, really handsome and cool and tall and nice to me and has a cute laugh and—” Dean cuts himself off, slapping his hands over his mouth. “Oh, no, did he hear all that?”

“I don’t know,” Benny replies, winks at Sam and says, “Did you hear that, Sam?”

“Hear what?” Playing along is better than watching Dean start to fidget and pull at his own hair. “Did you say something?”

“I didn’t. Did you, Dean?”

Dean shakes his head, cheeks reddening. “No.” He breaks out of Benny’s hold and closes the distance between them to give Sam a quick hug before taking his place at Benny’s side again. “Get ready to hide, Sammy! ‘m gonna find you so fast you won’t even know how fast!”

“Just wait here for one sec, okay, Dean?” Benny says, palming the sides of Dean’s neck.

“Why? Where are you goin’?”

“I’m just gonna talk to Sam real quick.”

“But Sammy is there. You can talk to him from here. Or he can come over here. That would be better. Sam—”

Benny cuts him off, “Just a quick private chat, all right? Stay right here for me.”

Dean’s lip quivers and his head flicks between them, fearful eyes sucking up all of the light in Sam’s life. “You’ll be right there, right?”

“Yeah, brother. You’ll be able to see us the whole time, okay?”

It’s not until Dean nods his head in agreement and smiles that Sam’s heart starts beating normally again, tipping his head in agreement when Dean glances over for confirmation, taking a seat on the bench right after, twiddling his thumbs anxiously.

With Dean somewhat settled, Benny gets close enough to keep what he’s about to say between them, leaning in a touch. “If he hasn’t found you after two minutes, make it easier for him or he’ll start to panic that you’ve been kidnapped.”

“Exactly two minutes?”

“Generally, yeah.”

Nodding to show he gets it, Sam calls out to Dean to start counting and then quickly searches for somewhere to hide. As tall as Sam is, it shouldn’t be difficult for Dean to spot him from anywhere. Or anyone, for that matter.

He picks a spot behind a bench on the other side of the park, knowing that there isn’t a chance of not sticking out like a sore thumb, disregarding the slight throb in his knees from the pressure of the unforgiving ground digging into him. A little discomfort goes a long way to at least giving Dean the impression that he’s _trying_ to hide from him. If he saw him standing in the open, he might get upset due to Sam making it too easy.

In the distance he hears Dean finish counting, expressing rather loudly that he’s coming, laughing gleefully, ignoring Benny’s insistence for him to slow down and not to run off. Several times, he hears Dean exclaim, “I… found ya’!”, only to then declare that he’ll be right the next time. Sam struggles to keep his amusement at his antics in, especially when he opens up the lid of a bin to check if he’s in there.

In Sam’s head, he counts a full minute and a half, reminding himself that he has 30 seconds left before Dean starts to get worried.

A moment later, a weight settles on his back and arms wrap around his body and cling on, a familiar voice boasting about how he found him and that he knew he could do it. Dean’s not… the lightest of people to have bearing down on his back, so Sam is relieved when he’s guided off of him, Sam quickly rising to his feet to smile at him to show he hasn’t done anything wrong.

“See, Sammy? I told you I was good at this game! Now it’s your turn to find me,” Dean says, standing far closer than he needs to and tucking his head under Sam’s chin.

“Dean, no.”

Dean muffles a sorry into Sam’s neck, which has Sam frowning in question at Benny, who makes a squeezing gesture. Sam gets it from that point, shaking his head.

It’s not the first time Dean has tried to grope his ass. He’s curious. Sam understands this. Curious or not, it’s not something he can allow him to just do, so it’s best that he be reminded that it’s not appropriate behaviour.

“Dean…”

“’m sorry, Sammy. I know. Can’t touch your big butt,” Dean grumbles. “Below the waist is off-limits.”

“That’s right,” Sam affirms proudly. “Go on, then. I’m gonna start counting.”

“C’mon, Dean. I know where we can hide,” Benny tells him, guiding him with somewhere in mind. Sam gives them a moment before he turns to begin his count of fifteen, thinking where he might be right now had he not decided to go for a walk to clear his head, somehow ending up at the park.

He had a lot on his mind. Dean, his current job, his living situation, his friends and family. Now that he’s committed to his job, and, by extension, committed to Dean, he has to consider how much time he actually has outside of it. He has to take into account that any vacation time he takes means he’s going to have to let Dean know way ahead of time that he won’t see him for a few days, to a whole week or two.

Thinking about that gives Sam a headache, which is what he was trying to avoid in the first place, breathing in the clean, fresh air to calm his nerves.

Seeing Dean immediately brought a smile to his face, even though he’s the causal link to his current state of stress. There’s just something about his face, his sunshine laugh and personality that make Sam’s worries drain away, flowing down the creek, forgotten.

It’s when he has a minute to think that it comes back to the surface, the worry, the agonising over his priorities, which always seems to start and end at Dean, as of late. Sam feels as if he’s known him his entire life, that he watched him grow into the amazing person that he is today, that he wouldn’t want to change him for the world or anyone in it.

No… He wouldn’t _want_ to. Some part of him—a small part, feels that he deserves a chance to be _normal._ Sam hates himself for thinking it, for even allowing the thought to pass through his mind. It doesn’t make it any less true. He should, by all rights, feel the same for any individual that has been dealt a difficult lot in life, even if Dean seems happy, content—he’s still a caged bird, kept hidden from society because he’s not deemed _fit_ to exist freely in a world that views him as a burden, insignificant, a job.

While it may be selfish for Sam to say that he _believes_ that Dean is one of those people that _should_ be given a better chance, a better future, where he can be his own man, have his own life, his own job, his own identity that isn’t monitored on a sheet, isn’t kept watch over—isn’t a number on a visiting list—it’s what he thinks. It’s what he believes, what he feels in his heart that a man like Dean _deserves_ the chance to be his own person.

Sam’s head snaps to the right when he hears a commotion, feet carrying him to the sound of distress one long stride at a time. He’s not sure what he’s going to find when he turns the corner, but his heart is telling him that he needs to hurry up.

That’s when he hears Dean saying he’s sorry. He hears Benny’s voice take on a note of murderous intent, motivating him to pick up the pace, rounding the corner where he sees Dean standing in front of Benny, hands on his chest, pushing him back.

“No, Benny—stop it. It’s okay. You said you wouldn’t fight—”

“It’s a’right, Dean. I’m just gonna talk to ‘im,” Benny replies, as calmly as he apparently can manage, eyes boring holes in some dude who looks like he thinks he can take them both.

“You’re not gonna talk! You’re gonna fight. And you’re gonna hurt and he’s gonna hurt and you’ll get in trouble and—”

“Dean, calm down. Just, wait over there for me, okay?”

Sam catches up to them, wondering how they even got this far. Dean notices him immediately, crying out to him, begging him not to let Benny start a fight, and Sam finds himself putting a hand on Benny’s shoulder.

“Benny, come on, man. Dean’s getting upset.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, Deany, but I can’t let that slide,” Benny says, putting a hand on Dean’s cheek.

“What, that freak is your boyfriend, too?”

He and Benny both glare at the man.

“Excuse me?” Sam starts, stepping in front of both of them, puffing his chest out. “He’s my patient. That’s his brother. Any more assumptions you want cleared up?”

“Patient? Feh. Makes sense,” the man replies, scoffing. Sam clenches his fists. “Well, your _patient_ should learn to watch where he’s going. I’m assuming he’s not blind as well as fuckin’ dumb, right?”

“You wanna say that again, motherfucker?” Benny snaps, shoving past both of them to square up to him.

Sam doesn’t stop him. He turns to Dean, takes him in his arms and lets him cry and scream, ignoring the sickening crack of a possible broken nose. All he can do is hold Dean tight to his chest, soothe him with nonsense while Benny does what he has to do.

“Benny might get in trouble!” Dean bellows, burying his face in Sam’s neck.

“It’s okay. No one will know. He won’t say anything, okay? Benny will be fine. He’s a bad man. A bad person for saying that,” Sam assures him, wishing Dean would stop crying because it makes his stomach clench and coil like the tightest of knots. “Benny’s protecting you, like he always does.”

Sam shouldn’t be saying any of this. Shouldn’t be turning a blind eye while Benny beats that man bloody, but he is. He is because he called Dean a freak.

Dean’s _not_ a _freak_.

*

The guy will live. Hopefully, the next time he thinks about calling someone like Dean a freak, he’ll think better of it.

Benny’s hands are looking good for what they just went through, Sam notices. He had expected that when he turned back around, his knuckles would be split from the way he was letting that asshole have it. Luckily, Benny knows how to beat the tar out of someone and hold back just enough to not cause unsightly damage to his own hands.

In any case, that guy isn’t telling anyone what happened to him. Pride? Embarrassment? Fear? One of those things will stop him from going to the police station to file a report, especially after Benny so kindly reminded him that it’s the people you know that matters.

Now, they’re sat in a diner. Dean is eating his pie like it’s going to explode if he doesn’t wolf it down fast enough. It’s his second piece. Benny is clearly an easy target for his eyes and sweet _pleases,_ because he caved after less than two seconds. Sam can’t say that he blames him. If there were pie stores in the Center, he’d probably buy the whole thing out just to make Dean happy.

Pie, so far, seems to have the desired effect of calming his nerves, the promise of it a big help in getting Dean to stop fretting earlier, with regards to Benny getting in trouble. Each time a wet, salty tear absorbed into the skin of Sam’s neck, he told himself he would do _anything_ to take the pain away.

But enough about that.

Since Sam isn’t currently on the clock, he doesn’t comment on the way Benny cleans Dean’s face for him or feeds him pieces of his own dessert when Dean takes an interest in it. If he were working, he’d encourage him not to indulge too much, but that’s his brother and _their_ time, and he’s not going to encroach on it more than he already has today, even if Dean insists that Benny isn’t upset that he’s tagged-along with them.

After the incident at the park, Sam tried to make his exit, but Dean said he wanted to hang out with his two favourite people. Benny had broken instantly, pretty much insisting that Sam had to come with them, his eyes saying that he would be dragged along against his will if he said no. Not that Sam was ever going to say no, not when Dean smiled brighter than the sun, not when he held both of their hands and squealed when they combined their strengths to swing him off his feet for a beat, laughing and bouncing up and down as he begged for them to do it again.

So they did, and up Dean went. Then Dean wanted to push him on the swing. Sam had been sceptical at first glance, knowing that there was no way his frame was going to fit on the seat, but he made it work, and Dean went _Heyyy, Hooo_ as Sam went back and forth, Benny standing to the left of Dean to help him brace Sam’s return. Eventually, Sam had started to feel sick, and Benny offered to take a turn. Dean said that he wanted a turn instead, so they both pushed him until he got his fill, and then they made their way to this diner.

One mouthful later, Dean’s chin and lips are a mess. Sam looks across the table at Benny, who’s staring at Dean like there is _no one_ else, eyes soft and light—a complete contrast to the narrowed-eyed gaze he received the moment he came into view. His stare is full of love, affection, adoration, fierce protection. A promise—no, an oath is etched into the cyan hues of his eyes, declaring to anyone that cares to look that no harm will ever befall the person reflected off of them at this current time while he’s around. And, if anything should ever happen, misery and potential death are what awaits them.

It sends a chill down Sam’s spine. Sitting here, watching Benny watch Dean, he realises, with astonishment, that _he_ looks at Dean the same way, his mind metaphorically nodding along with everything they see in Benny’s eyes, agreeing wholeheartedly.

That’s scary, to be made aware that _that’s_ how he looks at Dean. A month into knowing him, Sam isn’t Sam anymore. He’s whatever this person needs him to be, and it terrifies him how _okay_ he is with that.

Dean smiles at both of them, mouth still full of food, chin still spoiled, lips still accented by pastry and cream. He doesn’t seem to have a care in the world at this moment, happy to chomp on his pie, grin a cheeky grin and jut his chin out when Benny reaches out with a napkin to wipe him down.

Sam raises an eyebrow seconds later. Dean has decided that he’s not _just_ interested in Benny’s dessert now. He’s also interested in Sam’s, green eyes glinting, lashes fluttering, full lips retracting into his mouth before he lets them go, gaze locked on a strawberry dipped in cream.

He opens his mouth, runs his tongue over his bottom lip and drops his chin down, eyes still on the food.

A disapproving look is the answer to his unspoken request, and Dean closes his mouth, bites his lip and offers a sheepish smile before going back to his pie, side-eyeing the strawberry every once in a while.

Eventually, after Dean misses his mouth twice out of six mouthfuls, Sam shakes his head, pushes his bowl over and crosses his arms over his chest. Dean pitches the bowl back, causing Sam to frown.

Benny snickers, which grabs Sam’s attention. He says, “He wanted _you_ to _feed him_ the strawberry.”

Dean’s sheepish grin returns, one shoulder shrugging. He squeezes Sam’s hand, and Sam takes it to mean he’s apologising for being an adorable little shit.

They all finish their desserts. Well, Dean finishes Benny’s and Sam’s. Sam thinks he had a few bites. Maybe. He is trying to watch what he eats, so there’s a good chance he opted to leave it. Dean was more than happy to relieve him of it, anyway.

Outside, Sam looks down the opposite street, planning how he’s going to tell Dean that he should be getting home now. It’s not an easy task, with Dean holding both of their hands and looking like he’s having the best time of his life—actually, he has said today that this _is_ the best day of his life, so go figure.

“Well, uh… I’m _this_ way, so…”

“The car is this way, Sammy. You can drive with us! We can sit in the back together,” Dean says, looking hopeful. He tugs on Sam’s hand to nudge him in what he assumes is the direction of Benny’s car.

“Dean,” Sam replies, stilling them. “I have things to do, and you and Benny should spend some more time together before he has to go home.”

“But Benny is okay with it.” Dean purses his lips, turns to Benny. “Right, Benny?”

Sam can tell with one look that Benny won’t reveal to him that he wants to spend some time alone with Dean, so it’s up to him to drive the point home.

“How about this? We’ll hang out together next time, okay? And I’ll see about getting you outside some more. How’s that sound?”

Dean thinks about it, shakes his head.

“You’re not working.”

“You’re right, I’m not.”

“There’s no time limit,” Dean adds, looking at the floor. “Other than curfew, but that’s not for another—”

“Dean,” Benny cuts him off, puts a hand on his shoulder and takes the hand that was holding Sam’s. “The man has things to do. And… We haven’t watched The Dark Knight trilogy in a while, now, have we?”

Dean’s face brightens at that, interest piqued. He jumps up and down, asking if they can get lots of snacks and those big gulps that he likes. Benny says try and stop them. They discuss what they’re going to do a little more, Sam standing off to the side, trying to mind his own business.

When they’re done having their conversation, Dean throws himself at Sam and holds him for far longer than he probably should, Sam’s arms coming around him, cheek resting on top of Dean’s head. Dean breathes a sigh of relief, contentment oozing out of him as he squeezes Sam once and finally lets go.

Sam wrestles with the feeling of disappointment at the loss of contact.

“See ya’ later, Sammy. I’ll see you on Monday!” Dean tells him, lips stretched in that smile that figuratively knocks him on his ass.

“Sure thing, Dean,” he replies, smiling back. He cuts his eyes to Benny, then. “It was nice to finally put a face to a name, man.”

“Likewise, Sam. You’re all right,” Benny says, tipping his hat, taking Dean’s outstretched hand. “Stay safe, yeah?”

“I will. You, too.”

Dean waves passionately, getting more and more enthusiastic with each step Sam takes away from them. Sam checks behind himself every few beats to let him know that he appreciates it, wishing he could start the day all over again the second he turns the corner, suddenly empty.

*

Dean’s sad. Sammy went home. Benny went home. He’s alone now. Alone and sad because his two favourite people aren’t here. It’s just him. Little Dean. Little Dean all on his own.

Cas isn’t here. Maybe he has stuff to do. Important angel stuff. That’s what Benny said when he told him. Said Cas might be saving lost souls. Said that Dean is the most special, but there are other special people that need looking after.

He’s right! Benny is always right, and Dean knows that. Other people need Cas’s attention, too. Dean gets it. He does. He just misses his friend. And Sammy. And Benny. He misses them a lot.

Especially Sammy. Sam looked so handsome today in his normal clothes. His big butt looked even bigger and Dean wanted to touch it. He didn’t, though. Benny told him not to do it, so he didn’t. He listened because he respects Benny and Sam also said he can’t touch him below the waist. Even if he wants to.

It’s just so big and squishy looking and Dean wants to know if it’s as soft as it looks.

_Shiver._

Oh no. _It’s_ up.

“Not now.”

Dean groans, rolls over, tucks it and lays on it. _It_ goes down after a while and he rolls back over, kicks his covers. He crosses his arms and shakes his head.

Gonna see Sam on Monday. Only a day away. He can get through it. He’ll be good. Said he would be good, that he wouldn’t cause a fuss anymore. So he’s gotta be quiet, not scream or cry. Sammy doesn’t want him to cry. Sammy doesn’t want him to be upset.

_Shake, shake, shake._

“No! Don’t cry, Dean. Sammy will be here on Monday,” he tells himself. Stares at the door.

He licks his lips. Thirsty. Maybe he should get some water? Water and then back to bed. He can do that. No one will say anything. It’s okay.

Yeah.

_Nod, nod, nod._

Dean gets up, goes to the door. He opens it, peeks out. No one’s there. Not breaking any rules but Benny says look both ways no matter what. So Dean does.

Coast is clear. Dean grins to himself, steps out. He turns, goes to the water cooler.

It’s quiet. Dean’s not a fan of the quiet. But it’s okay. He can hum. Softly, though. Doesn’t wanna wake anyone up. Not nice to do that, Benny says. People need their sleep.

So does Dean, but he wants water first.

“What are you doing up so late?”

_Flinch._

“I’m getting some water. I’m thirsty.”

Dean looks at the new man. Doesn’t know who he is. Must be new staff, Dean thinks, fills a cup.

“Oh? Want some of my coke?”

_Frown._

“No, thanks. Benny said I had too much sweet stuff today, and I already brushed my teeth. I should have water and go back to sleep. Thank you for offering.”

Ellen says it’s polite to thank people even when they didn’t have the thing that Dean wanted.

“Benny?”

Dean grins while he talks about Benny. “Benny is my brother. He’s awesome. He saw me today and we went out and I had icecream and we played hide and seek and then Sammy joined us.”

“Sammy?”

Dean smiles wider, feeling hot as he speaks animatedly about Sam, cup spilling. “Sammy is my future husband! He’s tall and handsome and Benny likes him and I miss him ‘cause… he’s not here…”

_Sniffs._

“I haven’t met Sam yet, but he sounds like a cool guy.”

The man grins. Dean doesn’t like it. It looks weird. Not sweet or nice like Sam’s. Not warm or silly like Benny’s.

“He is a cool guy. The coolest!” Dean says, drinks his drink. Gasps. “I should go back to my room now. I have to be up in the morning for pills and food.”

“Okay. I’ll be seeing you around.”

“Sure. Okay. Bye,” Dean says, goes to leave.

“Hang on a second.”

Dean stops. Turns. The man is still grinning.

“What’s your name?”

“Dean,” he replies, smiling. He doesn’t feel it in his eyes.

“Well, then… Nice to meet you… Dean.”

“Same here.” Dean looks away from the grinning man. His heart beats a little faster and he thinks about Sam and if he’s gone to sleep yet, if he’s got more things to do tomorrow.

He thinks about Sam thinking about his day, planning things because he’s smart and organised. Dean’s not organised. Sam is, though. He’s really organised and always makes sure that Dean is where he needs to be when he needs to be there.

Dean climbs back into his bed, crawls under the covers and hugs his pillow to his chest. Would Sammy be this comfy? Would Sammy fit in his arms like this? Would he fit in Sammy’s arms like this?

_Sigh._

He hopes that Sam will be in his dreams tonight. Last night they baked cakes together and had a food fight with the frosting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isn't Benny/Dean/Sam friendship like the best thing ever? I didn't know that I needed it until I wrote it, and now I can't get enough of how fucking adorable they are together. XD
> 
> What do you think of the new man? What could he want? Why do you think Dean didn't like his grin? Hmm... 
> 
> Maybe things are starting to take a turn... 
> 
> If you liked this chapter, please let me know what you thought of it. There's nothing more gratifying, for me, than getting a notification of an email saying I have a new comment. Especially when it comes to this fic because I was so nervous in the beginning to start it, thinking that people wouldn't get it or care about it at all. 
> 
> Take care <3


	12. I Do Like Sweets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With SPN coming to an end, this has been a bit of a tough month, I'm not going to lie. After Despair and the Stands merch coming out with "You can die 15 times, but you're only gay once", I was close to just quitting the fandom because of how insulted I was by the flagrant use of the bury your gay's trope and capitalising on the LGBTQ+ for fake woke points. 
> 
> As a gay man, that did really piss me off. But Jensen said that it's open to interpretation, so I'm choosing to see it as platonic and move on from it. Dean is still Dean, the ship didn't go full canon and ruin hours of canon content and ret con endless amounts of scenes and character motivations, so I'm fine. 
> 
> Anyway, I wanted to say a special thank you to Frost for your comment. I didn't reply on there because you said you would be too shy to go back and check to see if I had said anything, so I'm telling you here that I really appreciated what you had to say, it made my day, and I'm so glad that what I have written could help you in any way, shape or form and I would love to hear from you again. :) 
> 
> So, this one's for you, Frost. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the chapter, everyone! :D 
> 
> Also, to anyone reading that lives in the USA, congratulations on getting rid of the Dorito. Things are looking up! :D

Low music plays from speakers wall-mounted on either side of the bar. It's loud enough that Sam can make out the tune, but he's missing most of the words flitting past his ears. Maybe he's not registering it for the same reason that he doesn't notice the bottle of beer next to his closed hands. He doesn't feel like he belongs here, the scene and his own idea of where he would want to pass time with a few friends not really adding up. Men and women are laughing, playing pool, darts, arguing over what sports team is better, and Sam can't get the sensation that he's being watched out of his head.

It sends chills through him. Much like—no. That's not possible. Sam can't allow himself to think like that, and not for how it has him itching all over to make sure that he's okay, even when he's at least aware enough that this is all a dream.

Why he's dreaming of this place and these people and this atmosphere is a mystery to him. For a time, he frequented bars with some good friends, though he never really got into the hype. If he's being completely honest with himself, he went along purely to have a chance at meeting someone for the night. It didn't always happen. Things got in the way or Sam didn't have the confidence to start a conversation when he wasn't sure they were into what he has.

Not that it mattered. Only, it kind of did when he was going through a dry spell, which is when he had to be slightly more willing to get out of his comfort zone to get some. Fortunately, he doesn't regret any of those encounters. Just would have rather not have had to lower his standards to get there.

He's not saying that vanity got in the way. Sam fully embraces the idea that looks are just a bonus. Something to be admired, sure. But really, it's the person underneath all of that really matters.

Though, Sam would be lying if he claimed that he hadn't watered at the mouth over some men for ticking every single aesthetic box on the market.

Kind of like—again, no.

"Hi there."

Sam freezes in place, closed hands flexing briefly. He knows that voice. There's something different about it. Something that has Sam shuddering from head to foot and coming to life in his pants.

"I saw you from across the bar. Yeah, cliche, I know. But it's just the truth. I figure a man like you doesn't like to be toyed with… At least, not in that way."

The seat next to his moves out, and then there's someone sitting next to him, eyes on the column of his throat, the intensity of their gaze palpable.

"I haven't seen you here before. I know that's true because we would have had this conversation before now… You're shy, I can respect that. I'm Dean, by the way. Dean Smith… O-kay. Never actually had someone ignore me before. This is awkward. And a damn shame, 'cause, dude, you're smokin' hot."

There's a tightness in his chest as Dean talks. Dean… _Dean,_ for Christ sakes. He's dreaming about _Dean…_

What's with this Dean, though? He sounds so… Not like Dean.

"Well, I should probably take the hint and—" Sam turns to look at him then, taking in the loose flannel, blue undershirt, light denims and steel-toecaps. "or, I could try again," Dean adds, licking his lips, eyes an earth-shattering smoulder. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Sam," he replies, slamming his mouth shut after and facing forward.

"Sam, huh? I'm gonna call you Sammy—"

" _No!"_ Sam snaps, winces and holds his hands up placatingly. "Sorry. I don't like that, okay?"

Dean considers him for a moment, cocks his head and leans an elbow on the bartop. "Sam it is. For now," he adds, swigging his beer. "So, tell me how a guy who looks like you is sitting all on his lonesome."

What is this? This Dean is... No, not that. But he is a mature adult, who, admittedly, has game. What the hell is going on here in this dream?

"I woke up here."

Dean laughs, heartily, eyes crinkling at the corners. His bottom lip gets caught between his teeth for a second as he scans Sam from head to foot.

"Funny, handsome, tall. Mm. The only thing that would make you the whole package is if your ass is proportionate to the rest of you."

Dream Dean also has a thing for his ass. Go figure. Sam should be grossed out by this. He should be freaking dry-heaving. And yet, for some reason, he can't see this man as the same Dean that jumps up and down when he gets excited. There's confidence in every one of his actions, the innocent glint in his eye giving way to something that would make a nun blush.

Sam knows that look. He's seen that look from bedroom partners before, and his body is certainly responding in kind. Heat licks at him, palms getting clammy. He grabs the bottle of beer in hopes it will cool him down. It must have been there for a while, as it's past the point of being any help.

For what it's worth, at least it's something to hold onto, to cling to as he navigates this dream sequence he has no business having.

Dean is attractive, yes. If this was the Dean that Sam met in the world of the awake, he would definitely have been giving into to his signals. It's wrong, though. It should be, that is. He should be willing himself to wake up, to transition somewhere else. Despite his efforts, his internal pleading for his body to spring awake, he's trapped.

And Dean is closer now. There's a hand on the back of his neck, a statuesque face hovering in front of his own, eyes hungry and half-lidded as they intermittently drop to his lips like they're a homing beacon.

"I'm gonna kiss you now. That's my intention. This is me letting you know exactly what's gonna happen if you let it."

Sam's heart spikes, throat bobbing, lifting, closing around nothing. He has no time to think, to process. Lips are touching his. Soft, silky smooth and oh-so sure of their mission. They press, a hand cups his face and tilts, a tongue sweeping over his lips. He can't let it in. Can't make it worse than it already is.

A hand cups him through his jeans, and he startles. The hand moves to his hair, tugs the strands in rhythm with the thrusts of his tongue. Sam hears himself moan, his heart breaking at the pitch, the desperation as he turns in his seat, letting this figmented Dean cosy up in between the spread of his legs, palming him through his threads as he dominates his mouth.

Instinct has him locking his legs. The noise disappears, leaving behind nothing but the sound of their lips meeting, tongues teasing, teeth scraping and clothes shuffling.

There's a snick as the button on his jeans pops and he tears away, arching into Dean's caress a moment later as a persistent mouth attacks his throat, head tucked under his chin, guiding his head back to suck marks into his flesh—

Sam pictures Dean hugging him, burying his face in his neck and breathing him in, calming at his presence.

He feels sick.

"Stop," he says, swallowing.

"That's not me," the figment says, eyes softening. "You don't have to feel guilty. I'm a man here, Sammy. I'm not a burden to you. You can finally have what you want."

"It's wrong," he argues, lowering his head.

Dean raises his chin up, kisses the side of his neck.

"Not in here, it's not. Just think of me like an alternate version. One that can do you dirty like you like. One that can get rough with you, tease you, make your toes curl. One that knows everything you like because I have access to all your little fantasies."

"What do you mean?"

Dean smirks and tears Sam's shirt open, gets a hand around his throat, hoists him off the chair and pins him to the floor. That wasn't what he was expecting to happen at all. Not many people/or figments can say that they've full-body lifted him off a freaking seat and manipulated him with ease.

"Like this one. I'm not a fan of choking you, personally, but I am a fan of how hard you are right now."

Wake up. Come on. Wake up. He doesn't like where this is going, what this is going to do to him in the long run. These aren't thoughts/dreams that he should be having about Dean, regardless of what version he is. Nothing about this is right.

"I told you, Sam, it's okay. Really."

"No, it isn't," Sam replies, firmly, voice a touch hoarse from the squeeze to his throat. "I have no right to think of him like this."

"He wants it, man. Can't you see that?"

"He doesn't know what he wants."

Dean snorts. "Why, because he acts like a kid?"

" _Yes,_ " Sam grits, thrusting his hips up, accomplishing nothing. "I get it, all right? He has a crush on me. He's attracted to me. But that's as far as it will go."

"Because it's _wrong_ for you to feel the same way?"

" _Yes,_ " Sam bites out, increasing his efforts to get out from under Dean's weight.

"So you admit it?"

"It doesn't matter—"

"And _why_ not?" Dean cuts in, grabbing his face and flirting with the soft spots on his neck with the pads of his fingers. "He wants you. You _clearly_ want him. So what's stopping you?"

Sam shakes his head, closing his eyes in shame and panic. Maybe he should—

"Oh, no. No, no, no. You're not leaving us."

"Us?"

"Yes. Us. I'm a part of this now—"

"This can't be happening," Sam almost shouts, breathing out harshly through his nose when Dean stops him from turning his head away. "You're not real."

"What if this is who I could be, huh? If I was born… Y'know. _That._ "

The pads massaging his neck cease, hands leaving him, curling into fists on tense thighs. A coldness settles in his core as he watches Dean's shoulders sag and his eyes lose their luster.

"C'mon, Dean—" Dean puts a hand up in front of his face, shakes his head. The one small mercy is that the shift in demeanor erased any amount of _excitement_ he had been previously feeling. "You're not—"

"Don't, okay? Just don't." For a moment Dean casts his eyes off to the side. "I didn't get to choose to be born that way. It's humiliating. Not… Not being my own man. Not being heard because everyone assumes that I'm an idiot. D'ya have any _idea_ how frustrating it is to have _others_ talk for you?" Sam's throat closes up and his eyes mist. "For the record, you can talk for me. It gives me more time to look at your beautiful face and mouth."

"Dean—"

"It's the constant go here, do that, take this, go to bed, watch some TV. And I know—okay? I know that _you_ ask me a lot what I wanna do. But _you_ and _Benny_ are the _only ones_ that give a crap about me."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Dean smiles, but it looks sad, sullen.

"It's what you already know, Sammy. We're in your head, in your dreams, your thoughts and feelings. This is what you've deduced so far. This is what you believe in your head to be true."

A stab of pain flares in his chest, thoughts of Dean standing there, feeling like he's just taking up space as others talk for him, over him, dictating what he's going to do with his day from start to finish, not taking the time to ask—to even entertain the notion that he could have something in mind for himself.

"I wish things were different."

Dean snorts.

"You and me both. This is what he wants, Sam. More than _anything._ He wants _you._ And I know that you can't see past his mentality." There's a pause, one digit tending to a phantom itch on the side of a slick throat. "Hell, I'm not expecting you to. You'd never forgive yourself, right?" Sam nods, swallows. "And you're not attracted to that?" Again, he nods, firmly. "But if we stripped that away, there'd be nothing stopping you?" Too much time passes. "I see," Dean says, throat clicking. "You think the damage is already done?"

Saying nothing seems like the safest option, so Sam remains still, ignoring the heat surging in his groin when Dean strips out of his flannel and pulls his shirt over his head in seconds flat, balling both up and tossing them to the side. Then his knees are on either side of Sam's neck and his hands are working his belt loose, popping the button, pulling the zipper down. The same hand reaches into a pair of briefs and pulls out a stiff, thick cock.

Sam ignores the smell of arousal surging up his nose, denies the river of spit flooding his mouth, fights the throbbing of his cock in his jeans. The fat, beading crown taps his bottom lip and Sam does everything within his power not to snap his jaw in his eagerness to get it in his mouth. It's been so long since he's tasted, felt, gorged on a nice, thick, long cock that his body is screaming at him in outrage for not taking the offering.

The mixture of musk and seminal fluid has him feeling like he's been stranded in the desert for days and finally stumbled upon an oasis, tongue longing to lap up the translucent spindles creating a line down to his chin.

"Open up—"

" _Dude_!"

Reality crashes into him with a start, body rising, hand coming over his heart as he blinks away the fog of sleep. He looks to his right, taking in Charlie's form. She's holding a cup of steaming coffee, which he accepts with a nod, shifting so his back is to the headboard and bringing one leg up to disguise his apparent state of arousal.

"Good dream?" Charlie asks, sipping from her own cup.

"Not really."

She raises an inquisitive eyebrow. "That's, um, random then?" It's clear that she doesn't want to talk about that. She wants to know what's bothering him. Sam's not sure if he should say anything about it. He's not fully come to terms with how _real_ it all felt. "Or we could talk about something else. Like why you asked me to wake you up."

"I didn't think I'd sleep well. It was a precaution. And, thanks."

"Don't mention it…. Does it have to do with seeing Mr Wonderful the day before?" His silence equates to some kind of answer for her. "You said he looked so happy being outside and free."

"He was," Sam replies, a small smile on his lips. "It's selfish for me to say, but on the one hand, I wish that Benny was his full-time carer so that he didn't have to be walled off from the world. And, on the other, I don't…"

"Because then you wouldn't have met him," Charlie provides helpfully. A thought apparently pops into her head. "You could always do it, if you wanted to."

Sam shakes his head. "I don't have the experience. Or the money to take care of him." He frowns, hand stiff around the cup. "It's probably not a good idea, anyhow."

"What makes you say that?"

Images of his most recent dream pitch up, the presence of figmented Dean's cock resting on his bottom lip provoking a pang of want.

Sam shakes his head to clear it, takes a few pulls of his coffee and swallows the contents harder than necessary. In punishment? Perhaps. The one small mercy is that it wasn't… _his_ Dean. The real Dean. It was an imitation, an idyllic version of him that Sam, yes, would spread his legs for. That doesn't make it any less wrong. Any less… _disturbing_ that _Dean_ made it into his dreamspace in that way.

"Some other time, Charlie."

*

Monday is Dean's favourite day now. Sam comes on Mondays for the first time in the week. Which means Dean gets to see him for five days in a row and he loves that. He hates Fridays. Fridays are the worst. Worse than vegetables and other stuff they make him eat. He doesn't like it. Sam leaves on Friday and doesn't come back until Monday, so Dean wishes Thursdays never ended.

It doesn't work. Cas doesn't help either. He's not been around much. Important angel business, Dean thinks. He said to Dean he needs to stop asking for him to bring him to Sam, or Sam to him because he's not allowed to do that. But Dean thinks that Sam would be okay with it. Then they could have a sleepover and not have to say goodbye.

Dean could live with Sammy instead. He would like that. He would like it a lot. And since it's not _his_ room, they could sleep together! Dean would really, really like that. Thinks about it a lot. Thinks about Sam a lot. Pretty much just Sam.

His thoughts go _Sam. Sammy. Sam. Sam. Sam. Sam. More Sam. Sam's smile. Face. Eyes. Butt. Butt. Butt. Big butt. Sammy. Sam._ He can't shut them up. Doesn't really wanna. Dean likes thinking about Sam all the time. It makes him happy. Makes him smile and laugh and… the other thing.

He wakes up sticky sometimes. Dean doesn't like that. It feels icky and smells fishy and means he has to change his sheets again. And it stings a little when he pees. Dean doesn't like it when it stings when he pees. It's uncomfortable. He feels better when he showers.

Dean's waiting in his usual spot. Just a few more hours and Sam will show up. Then he can hug him and squeeze him and lift him and stare at his pretty lips. He wonders what they taste like. If they're as sweet as they are in his dreams.

He blushes. Shakes his head.

_Twitch, twitch._

No, no, no. He can't let _it_ happen here or Kat-litter will look at him all funny and hide her face like she does.

Remember Benny says think about gross stuff. Stuff he doesn't like. Stuff that makes him feel gross and sick and not excited at all.

It works and Dean jumps up from his seat with a cheer. He settles back down again, embarrassed now that he cried out. Kat-litter smiles at him. He smiles back, shyly, twiddles his thumbs.

_Fidget, fidget. Tap, tap. Check clock._

"Hey, Dean."

Dean startles.

"Hello."

"How are you?"

"Fine. 'm waiting for Sammy. He'll be here in a few hours. I wait here for him every day, y'see. 'cept Saturdays and Sundays. Sammy doesn't work on those days, so I wait for Monday to come."

The smile Dean doesn't like or thinks is actually a smile appears again.

"That's good to know."

"Okay," Dean replies, twiddling. "I wait for Sammy."

"I can see that."

_Shake, shake._

"No. _I_ wait for Sammy. Alone. So, can you leave, please?"

Dean doesn't know why he feels uncomfortable but he wants him to go away.

"But if I leave, I can't give you this," the man says. Dean sees something shiny come out of his pocket. Sweets. He likes sweets. His tummy rumbles and his mouth waters. "I heard you like sweet stuff. It's not pie, but it sure is tasty."

Dean does like sweet stuff. He's right. Maybe he's not so bad if he carries sweet stuff with him. Dean's not allowed to eat lots of sweets because he can get sick or be hyper and up and running around and that's not a good thing.

_Fidget, rub, scratch._

"I do like sweets."

"Well this is all yours, if you want it," the man tells him, and Dean reaches his hand out. Nothing happens, so he frowns. "For a price, that is."

"Price?" Dean asks, cocks his head, twitches his lips and blinks. "I don't have money."

The smile returns.

"I don't want your money, Dean. I just want you to do something for me."

"Something? Like what?"

Dean frowns harder.

"Nothing big, don't worry. I just want you to take a lap around the building and come back."

_Tilt._

"A lap?"

"Yeah. Shouldn't take you too long, should it?"

Dean nods his head. Thinks about it. Checks the time. He has lots of time before Sam gets here.

"Okay," he agrees, rises off the seat and starts walking away. "Through here and around… and over here… turn here… come back… turn… turn… turn… other way… now here… left, right, left, right—" Dean stops, taps his head. "Not right. Left. Silly Dean… Okay, back this way… and around… and around here… one more turn, and… Done!" He beams when he gets back to his seat, bouncing his knees while waiting for the candy to be handed over to him.

"Very good, Dean," the man says. "This is our little secret, okay?"

_Blink, blink._

"But I want to tell Sam about it, and—"

"If you tell him, it won't be a secret, and you won't get any more sweets. You want more sweets, don't you? I can get you a ton more, but you've gotta be good, you understand?"

Dean glances over at Kat-litter. She's not watching him. Busy on the phone doing what she does that Dean isn't sure about.

"I don't tell Sam, I get more sweets and stuff?"

"That's right."

Dean bites the inside of his cheek, purses his lips and swallows. He doesn't want to lie to Sam. It's not good to lie. But he's not gonna say anything. Is it a lie? Is he a bad person for not saying anything? Dean doesn't know. He really does like sweets, though. And he could get a ton more if he goes along with it!

"Okay, I won't say anythin'."

The man hands him the candy, smiles that smile that makes Dean's stomach squeeze and walks off down the hall.

*

The amazing thing about Dean spinning him around like he's weightless, is that Sam has no chance to think about the guilt of being touched by him so soon after the dream that he had. Everything is consumed by Dean's smiling face and declarations of how much he's missed him, how good he's been waiting for him, how he didn't scream once all weekend. Katie confirms it, putting her hand over the receiver on the phone for a moment to softly smile and tip her head in affirmation.

Knowing Dean wasn't screaming into the abyss has his heart swelling with pride, feet landing softly on the floor, body jolting from Dean's energetic bouncing. He eventually settles and breathes a contented sigh as he nuzzles Sam's throat, lightly repeating _missed you, missed you, missed you_ and squeezing him tight against his body.

People don't crowd around waiting to swoop in anymore. They just allow it to happen. Sam knows what he's doing, and it's been established that Dean has zero intentions of hurting him. If anything, he would be more concerned for them trying to pry Dean off of him.

One of them has to keep their distance, so Sam ensures he inclines his hips back as far as humanly possible. Dean doesn't bother returning the favour. Instead, he drops his hand to the small of Sam's back, intending on closing the gap. Sam says Dean's name in a low warning sound that snaps him out of it.

He steps back, a sheepish grin on his face as he lowers his head and bites his lip.

"It wasn't your butt," Dean informs him, like it makes it any better.

Sam rolls his eyes fondly. "Look at you coming up with loopholes."

"Loopholes?"

"Cracks in my logic."

Dean grins.

"Means 'm smart, right?!"

"You sure are. So I'm gonna have to add on that you can't pull me in, okay?"

"I like when we're close," Dean replies sulkily, crossing his arms over his chest.

"It's not—"

"Appropriate, I know," Dean cuts in, sulking harder. "But it will be when you're my husband, right?"

Sam offers a little laugh, ignores the sweat beading along his brow and quickly walks over to sign in. He doesn't waste any time scrawling his name. Dean fusses over being denied a kiss on the cheek when Sam turns back around, not understanding what the big deal is. It has Sam recalling the press of phantom lips on his, how a hot, silky tongue explored his mouth in his dreams.

After a minute of dodging the issue, Dean moves on to talking about his weekend, what he did on Saturday after Benny left. Not a whole lot, from what Sam is hearing. He talks about all the nice things Benny said about Sam, that he'll still kick his ass if he ever hurts him. Sam had to laugh at that, believing wholeheartedly that the man would hand him his own ass if he was ever considered a threat to Dean.

And he would deserve it.

Out of the blue, Dean presents him with a chocolate bar that has started to melt. He stares at it, cheeks reddening as he realises that it melted in his pocket. Sam assumes he was planning to surprise him with it, which is adorable, even if he can't for the life of him figure out where he got it from.

He doesn't have time to ask him where it came from, having to focus his efforts on getting Dean to stop self-deprecating and pulling at his hair. The chocolate bar falls to the ground. Sam doesn't even register it over Dean calling himself a word that Sam absolutely detests. He tries to shush him, tell him that he's none of those things, that he just made a mistake, that Sam doesn't even like chocolate.

This makes things worse.

"I don't even know what my future husband likes! I'm so stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid Dean. That's what I am! Just an idiot. I'm so dumb. Why am I so dumb, Sammy?"

"You're not. Please don't call yourself that. I like some chocolate. Not all, okay?"

Dean shakes his head.

"I should know! I should know what you like so I can be a good husband and take care of you and make you happy and make you smile and make you feel special like you make me feel!"

"You do do those things, Dean," Sam tells him, heart beating a mile a minute in his chest. "Why don't we go to the vending machine? I can get you—"

"But I wanted to share mine with you because you're always getting me things and I can't get you anythin' nice!" Dean slaps himself round the face and grips his hair harder. "I'm so stupid! Hot melts stuff, Dean. Don't you know that, you dummy!"

Sam grabs Dean's wrist before he can slap himself again, takes his other hand and squeezes them with his own. "Look at me, Dean. Focus on me. Come on." It's a minute before Dean meets his eyes, looking so defeated and mad with himself that Sam feels his lunch trying to break out of his stomach. "If you really don't want to upset me, you stop hurting yourself right now."

"Oh no, I made you sad, and—"

"Dean! I don't like it when you say bad things about yourself," Sam admits, swallowing the lump in his throat. "You've done nothing wrong. Okay?"

"I ruined the chocolate."

"It's fine, really," he assures him, letting him lace their fingers together. "I spilled coffee on myself this morning." It's a lie, but Dean doesn't have to know that. "Pretty silly, right? Luckily it was cold."

"That is silly, Sammy. You're 'sposed to drink it, not spill it," Dean replies with a giggle that makes Sam melt, tension easing as Dean visibly calms down. "I spill stuff, too, though, so we can be silly together."

"Sounds good to me. Now, why don't we forget about the chocolate and do a bit of reading instead?"

Dean bounces on the seat and cheers. "You're gonna read to me?"

"If that's what you want."

"I love when you read to me. You're so good at voices and I love the sounds you make," Dean says, imitating explosion sounds so realistic that Sam, for one second, believes that a bomb just went off. "Can we read outside? It's a really nice day and I like sitting by the tree… with you," he adds, blushing.

After Dean's small meltdown, Sam doesn't have it in him to insist that they not isolate themselves from others. He ignores the barrage of reminders of Dream Dean invading his space, showing him a different life, a different setting where—no. He's got to stop thinking about him in that way. It was a dream. So long as he keeps reminding himself that it doesn't matter how aesthetically perfect Dean is, eventually he will look at him like he's just another person.

He hopes, anyway. The one saving grace is that he knows in his heart that it's not _Dean_ that he's attracted to, that has his subconscious lighting up. If he even thinks about _Dean_ in _that_ way, his stomach rolls and he's disgusted by it. Dean probably wishes he wasn't, not getting why it's just _so_ wrong for _anyone_ to see him that way.

Sam does his best to lose himself in the book, holding it open with one hand while Dean plays with the fingers of his other one, listening intently to every word coming out of Sam's mouth. He laughs in places, smiles in others, gasps when something big happens, and Sam feels his heart swelling in his chest.

Dean is someone to protect, not lust over.

Dean is someone to cherish, not sexualise.

Dean is someone to love, not objectify.

Sam combats his thoughts with these statements, allowing the mantra to stack on top of each other, to coil around the wrongness of the lingering remnants of that dream, hoping that if he believes strongly enough, he'll never meet figment Dean again.

Why that makes him feel a sting of loss, he doesn't know.

How can he mourn someone he's never met?...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked the chapter, please let me know what you liked about it. I really love reading your comments and getting to interact with you, and I love reading about your theories on where you think the direction of the story is going. :D 
> 
> So, Dean has had two interactions with that man now, hasn't he? What do you think it brewing there? Do you think it's okay for Sam to have sexual dreams of an alternate Dean reminiscent of the one we see in the show? Or do you think that his guilt is justified, given that Dean has the mentality of a child? Do you think figment Dean will make another appearance? And, finally, when you do think Dean is going to bite the bullet and just propose? XD


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